


As Blue as the Blood in Your Veins

by EwanMcGregorIsMyHomeboy12



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Ahsoka is Still a Jedi, Attempted Murder, BAMF Ahsoka Tano, BAMF Padmé Amidala, Blood and Injury, Canon Typical Violence, Dex's Diner, F/M, Gen, Hurt Obi-Wan Kenobi, Interrogation, Jedi Culture & Tradition (Star Wars), M/M, Order 66 Happened Differently (Star Wars), Palpatine's Evil Schemes, Political Manuvering, Possessive Anakin Skywalker, Protective Anakin Skywalker, We spend a lot of time in Anakin's Head, im terrible at tags, obi-wan whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-14 00:47:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28787421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EwanMcGregorIsMyHomeboy12/pseuds/EwanMcGregorIsMyHomeboy12
Summary: When a bounty hunter attempts to assassinate Jedi General Obi-Wan Kenobi during a peaceful negotiation, the chain of events that follows will unravel the galaxy all the way to its core.
Relationships: CC-2224 | Cody/Obi-Wan Kenobi, CT-7567 | Rex & Anakin Skywalker & Ahsoka Tano, Dooku & Obi-Wan Kenobi, Dooku & Sheev Palpatine, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker & Ahsoka Tano, Padmé Amidala/Anakin Skywalker, Sheev Palpatine & Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 58
Kudos: 391





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Officially starting on this project ;) Inspiration hit and so I'm just rolling with it :) 
> 
> This chapter is just a prologue, so the subsequent ones will be much longer. Planning on this plus 10 chapters of content. 
> 
> As always, hope you all enjoy! Please R and R, let me know what you think! 
> 
> Find me on tumblr at this same name :)

“Obi-Wan?”

To Anakin, it doesn’t sound like his own voice. Not a General of the Republic Army. Not A Jedi Knight. He sounds like that little boy, the one he left behind on Tatooine. 

“Obi-Wan?”

He says it again, moving even as his limbs protest with panic. He feels cold; ice is filtering through his legs as he falls to his knees.

“Obi-Wan!”

Is he yelling? Can anyone hear him? Why isn’t anyone answering? When did the world start spinning so quickly? When did it become so blurry?

“Obi-Wan.”

What was a shout is now no more than a whisper, a whisper that feels a thousand miles away. He cradles Obi-Wan’s face in his hands, turning his head. A thin trickle of blood is coming from the side of his mouth, dripping towards the floor.

“Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan’s body shakes in his arms. Is he shaking him? It happens again, his limbs stiffening in quick convulsions. And again, one arm thumping hard into Anakin’s chest, the blow barely registering.

“Obi-Wan, please.”

He had been standing only a moment ago. Had been talking in that smooth, negotiating way that Anakin hated doing himself. And then he was falling. Falling. Falling as Anakin watched it happen, as the dictators and the senators gasped in turn. Falling as Anakin was too far away to catch him.

“Obi-Wan.”

Who was crying? He could feel it. The suffocating. The heat. The pressure. But who?

“Obi-Wan.”

Was it him? He lifted his hand from Obi-Wan’s back, watched as a tear fell and mingled with the blood that seeped through his fingers.

“Obi-Wan.”

Anakin couldn’t stop saying it. He said it over and over, out loud and in his head even as the medical unit took him from Anakin’s arms. Even as the Senator came up beside, pointing frantically to the window where there was a crack in one of the stained glass windows where the blaster bolt had come through. And beyond it, a dark figure, sprinting along one of the nearby rooftops.

“Master?”

It was Ahsoka speaking now, waiting on his call to go after them. Waiting on him to rise from the floor and give chase.

“Master, they’re getting away!”

Then go, he wanted to say. Go after them. He stood slowly, limbs still cold, flooding his body with a sluggish torrent. Instead he turned to the hall where Obi-Wan was being carried out, and took a step. Ahsoka’s hand on his shoulder stopped him.

“Master?”

He could feel the confusion, distant and fluttering through the force. But he couldn’t respond. He stepped away again and registered the confusion in her face.

“I’m going after them, Master.”

He went after Obi-Wan.


	2. Interruptions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is so much fun to write yall :)))) 
> 
> Thanks for the great response on the prologue, and as promised, the chapters are much longer. 
> 
> Also, fair warning, there is an F bomb dropped in the last section :) 
> 
> As always, I hope you enjoy! Please R and R, let me know what you think! 
> 
> Find me on tumblr at this same name

**Are Negotiations at an End? Attack on Jedi General Could Spell End of Possibility for a Peaceful Resolution to War**

When Anakin had first come to the temple, there were many long moments of silence spent sitting across from Obi-Wan in the temple cafeteria. He watched his new master run his hands through his hair, reaching for his braid that was no longer there as he tried to think of what to say. At the time, it had made Anakin squirm in his seat, flipping over the bits of noodles and poultry and vegetables with his fork. It had never bothered him to talk to people; it was one of the many reasons that Watto had let him work so often in the front of the shop: There were far worse things for business than a friendly child who knew anything someone could think to ask about droids or engines or mechanics in general. Qui-Gon had been the same way; Anakin could remember the first night he had been at there house when, even as he had tried to hide the fact that he was a Jedi, conversation with Anakin’s mother had come easily to him. With warmth and a sort of grace.

Obi-Wan was very different.

It was not bad, and Anakin had known, even then, that Obi-Wan perhaps did not mean to be so quiet. He seemed unaware that long periods of silence unsettled Anakin, that he was used to and wanted some sort of constant stimulation. Obi-Wan could meditate in front of the window of their shared quarters for an hour before Anakin ever woke up, his eyes closed to the Coruscanti sunrise and his mind well beyond the small space that they shared. Anakin found his mind worked best when he had droid bits in his hands, able to tinker with them and think about other things instead of forcing his mind in some direction. In those days, he hadn’t told Obi-Wan that yet, and had tried his best to sit with him in the morning, fists pressed together and eyes closed until Obi-Wan would rise and walk them to breakfast.

It occurred to Anakin that where his own natural state might be activity, Obi-Wan’s was self-restraint. For the most of his early days at the temple, when he had spent his days in and out of classes and sparring and basic training to catch up on nine years that his classmates had the luxury of already completing, most of his time with Obi-Wan had been in the evenings and meals. Which were quiet. So quiet.

_He remembered distinctly the night when that had begun to change. It was his second month at the temple, and he and Obi-Wan would be leaving in short order on their first, short-order mission on a nearby planet as escorts for a Senator. It would take less than a day and had no expected qualms or even any expected action. But when Obi-Wan had told him at the end of breakfast, the excitement of the prospect had distracted him all throughout the day. It was a mission! Hardly anything big to gloat over, but a mission nonetheless, and he had refused to let anything dampen his spirits. And then came their evening meal when it was he and Obi-Wan again._

_The others in his age group, not old enough yet to have Masters, had asked him questions all day about their mission. He had noticed, immediately when they arrived at the temple, that both he and Obi-Wan already had a reputation. Whispers followed him when he was alone, and Obi-Wan shielded him from similar ones when they walked the halls together, though his Master never did turn to face down anyone generating the voices following them. The Sith-Killer and the Chosen One. Two of a kind. Unpredictable. Dangerous. The rumors had bled into the questions he had been asked. Were they going to fight? Look for the other Sith that likely still remained at large in the galaxy? Where they going to learn more about the prophecy that the Council refused to speak of openly?_

_Those thoughts had been ludicrous (he didn’t even have a real lightsaber yet!), even as the ideas filled Anakin with a kind of thrill. He remembered sometimes that Obi-Wan really was a Sith Killer, and he would look up into his calm, passive face and the thought would hit him. But not in that moment. In that moment, he was simply Anakin’s Master and they were going on their first mission. He wanted to ask more about it, to pepper Obi-Wan with the dozens of questions he had been considering himself. But he hadn’t, and as they sat down with identical bowls of soup and half-sandwiches, he was almost bouncing in his seat with the restraint of not doing it._

_“Anakin,” Obi-Wan’s voice had almost startled him. It was flat, even. He worried for a split second that Obi-Wan was upset and stopped the jostling of his leg as he looked up. But Obi-Wan was instead looking at the soup. “Do you like the soup?”_

_Anakin, who had eaten his sandwich first, had not considered his opinion of the soup. Much of the food in the temple cafeteria was rather plain, and though there were bottles of sauces and spices that they could have used to flavor their food, there were none that Anakin was familiar with as of yet. He had copied Obi-Wan a few times and learned quickly that his new Master liked things that tasted like citrus and peppers which Anakin was not sure was an opinion that he shared. He took a spoonful of the soup and immediately curled his tongue back at the taste._

_He was about to voice his disgust when Obi-Wan’s laugh took him completely by surprise._

_“It’s not very good, is it?” He smiled at Anakin and, perhaps for the first time, Anakin could feel the warmth coming off of him that Qui-Gon had possessed. Just a touch, just a trace, but it had swelled in Anakin’s chest._

_“No, Master,” He said, taking another bite to be sure. Obi-Wan laughed again at the look on his face, covering his smile with his hand. He had started growing a beard, and the motion had emphasized the change in his face. Anakin pushed the tray away slightly, now even the smell of his soup making him marginally nauseous. To his surprise, Obi-Wan did the same, setting his spoon on his napkin. Anakin expected that to be the end of it as Obi-Wan picked up his sandwich half._

_“I thought,” Obi-Wan spoke after he swallowed down a bite of his sandwich, “That after we return to Coruscant tomorrow evening, we could go somewhere else to eat.”_

_“Is there another Cafeteria?” In his time at the temple, this was the only dining area that Anakin had seen._

_“No,” Obi-Wan shook his head and had smiled slightly, “I think we’ll likely be done after regular hours here. I have an old friend of mine and Qui-Gon’s who runs a diner in the city. I thought we could go there.”_

_A mission, eating somewhere else, and meeting one of Obi-Wan’s friends outside the temple? Anakin couldn’t help the grin that split his face. “As long as its better than this,” He said, gesturing to the soup. He was worried for a moment that Obi-Wan didn’t know it was a joke, but there had been that warm smile again._

_“It would be hard to be worse.”_

Ever since that first trip, it was only ever with Obi-Wan that Anakin came to Dex’s Diner. The food was only a tiny bit better than the soup they had been eating, though Obi-Wan had been partial to it for as long as Anakin could remember. Perhaps because it was usually free, or because he genuinely enjoyed the lengthy conversations he had with Dex himself. Anakin had never been sure, but had usually entertained Obi-Wan’s desire to eat there whenever Obi-Wan had asked him to.

Being there now made him think of that first time, now more than a decade ago. They always sat in the same grungy booth towards the back so that people wouldn’t see two Jedi sitting in the front and chose not to patronize the business. The first time they had come, Anakin hadn’t been tall enough for his feet to reach the floor, and instead had kicked them against the back of the seat in rhythmic taps as Dex has smushed Obi-Wan against the other side wall and, for the first time, he had seen Obi-Wan move fully out from behind the wall where he usually kept himself. He had learned stories of Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan as a padawan and all of the criminals that had, in that moment, been inhabiting other booths in the diner. He had learned about Dex himself and how long he had been cooking bowls of the suspicious looking chili that they been brought heaping bowls of. He had tasted some of the bottles of sauce--sticky with perhaps years of use--that were on the end of the table with the bread that they been brought.

There again now, sitting where Obi-Wan always had so that he could see the exits, Anakin thought about that night. Dex had seen him enter, and had, with no comment, delivered him a bowl of chili, basket of bread, and a mug of some dark amber beer in three of his hands as the fourth had given a gentle squeeze to Anakin’s shoulder. Anakin had no doubt that Dex had noticed that he had never come in without Obi-Wan before, and that he wouldn’t be doing so now if it didn’t feel like he had no choice. He had walked into the cafeteria, and they had been serving that soup again. Years later and it was still on the menu. He had debated doing what he and Obi-Wan had done that night which was eat their sandwiches and then take a handful of the small pieces of fresh fruit to eat, but he had been stricken instead with nostalgia. And so here he was.

Other diners were watching him. He could feel their eyes on him as he poured out some of the sauce meant for cuts of tenderloin and drug a particularly crusty piece of bread through it. He ignored them and took a large bite. It was tangy, slightly sweet. He kept a bottle of it in Padme’s cabinet at her apartment to eat whenever he was there. Since that first time he had come here, it was the sauce he put on nearly everything. Ahsoka had joked with him many times that the other rations he was eating were merely vessels for it, and at the moment it was hard to argue with that thought.

He leaned back, mopping up more of it with his bread, and let his eyes trail to the _Holo News_ screen. Failures in the mid-rim sieges as Greivous mowed down Master Mundi’s battalion, controversy’s in the Senate, mentions of distant systems threatening to join the Separatists, advertisements for the Galactic Games. It all ran together until an image of Obi-Wan appeared.

He felt his chest tighten, forced down a gulp of beer on top of the bread. It was speculation, all speculation. None of them knew anything about Obi-Wan’s condition, a fact Anakin had worked hard to ensure. That morning, he had smashed one holo-cam to bits against the outer wall of the Halls of Healing and the Twi’lek who had come to try and get an inside story had run out of the building as fast an Anakin had ever seen a being move. She hadn’t been the first. She wouldn’t be the last. Which is why the picture they had was Obi-Wan’s standard issue picture that the Republic used for all official announcements, just his shoulders up, smiling slightly with his shoulder plates on.

The bread in his mouth, in spite of the beer, was turning to sand as it the reporter’s voice started to drone in his ear. Somehow, it eclipsed all the talking happened across the diner, all the laughter and bawdy jokes coming from two tables over. The clang of pots and pans, the whirring of the server droids. It grated exactly on the one nerve Anakin had that he hadn’t realized was so sensitive, and as he took the bottle of sauce in his metal hand, he could feel the glass straining with the force of his grip.

And then it was gone. The projector had been turned off, and the wavy blue rendition of Obi-Wan gone with it. He let the bottle slip from his fingers, the base of it hitting the table with a light thump. His glance sideways confirmed what he already knew, that Dex had turned it off with the remote held in his fingers even as he dried a set of glasses with a slightly dirty rag.

He went back to his food, now dipping into the chili that was, as best he could describe it, edible. Four bites in, and he vision filled with the sight of Rex’s dirty apron as he pushed into the seat opposite him, sucking his stomach with a deep breath and laying one heavy arm across the table.

“Where’s the little girl?” He asked, but seeing Anakin had just taken a bite, gave a deep chuckle, “Not so little anymore. Been years since she first came in.”

Ahsoka liked the food about as much as Anakin did, but had been equally as enamored with the way Obi-Wan could be open with Rex who was such a contrast to Obi-Wan himself. Unlike Anakin, she possessed the unique ability to decline Obi-Wan’s invitations on account of her specified diet.

Anakin swallowed, “She’s been appointed as part of the investigation team.”

Dex made a rumbling sound in his chest, one that Anakin couldn’t tell if it was simply acknowledgement or some sort of opinion on the subject. He doubted it was the latter, since he could hardly imagine a being who he was certain had killed plenty of people in his life, would have reservations about Ahsoka’s involvement of investigating the criminal that she had caught on her own.

“Those holo-reports never say much,” Dex said, two hands gesturing towards the now blank projector space. “Not anything worth hearing, anyway.”

Anakin nodded, taking another bite of his chili.

“I’ve seen Hardeen a few times, of course. Catch about everybody through here at some point,” One of Dex’s hands reached up to stroke at his chin. “Quiet. Kept to himself. Not much there, I don’t think.”

Hardeen. What an inconsequential being in the galaxy. He curled his hand into a fist, which Dex took in with a glance. If he was surprised to see such an outward show of anger from a Jedi, he didn’t show it.

“Maybe more than I thought, after seeing this.”

“He’s nothing,” Anakin said, feeling dangerously calm, “He pulled a trigger. Someone else planned this.”

Dex looked at him as Anakin shoved more food in his mouth, appetite gone but hunger lingering in the pit of his stomach.

“That, I’d agree with.” Dex leaned back as best he could, watching Anakin who set his spoon down. He would eat the bread, but couldn’t face the chili any longer. “Hunters like Hardeen will crack easy, given a good enough deal. You’ll get it out of him.” 

Anakin nodded tersely. Now there was a look in Dex’s face: Contemplative. Anakin suspected that since Dex had known he and Obi-Wan were always close, that he assumed that he and Obi-Wan were quite similar. If this was his first realization otherwise, there was nothing Anakin could do about it now.

“Would be more worried about yourself and the little girl, right now. He won’t be the only Jedi they’re after.”

Anakin nodded again, and Dex sighed, realizing perhaps that this was not a conversation that Anakin wanted to be a part of, and started pushing himself out of booth and taking the half-eaten bowl of chili from Anakin.

“You come in here whenever you like. Bring the little girl if you want,” Anakin smiled a thin-lipped smile, grateful but his own agitation keeping him from speaking, “When Obi-Wan wakes up,” He gave what Anakin assumed what supposed to be a reassuring smile which was a different sort of concept when his mouth was full of fangs, “Come get him some food.”

“Thank you,” Anakin said, and stood to leave. He ignored the stares of others as he walked out, hearing the _Holo-News_ come back on with reports of some new breed of wrathtar to watch out for.

**Jedi General Obi-Wan Kenobi Reportedly in Critical Condition at Jedi Temple**

“Sir!” He turns around to see Waxer, standing at attention at the front of the command tent, “There’s a call for you, Sir.”

“At ease, Waxer,” Cody said, pushing past him through the tent flap. He had been waiting for days now to hear from General Kenobi. He had left their campaign on Vanmir 7 to handle diplomatic negotiations on Vanmir 5 with Skywalker and Tano. He should have, by all accords, been back days ago. Not that the situation on Vanmir 7 merited the direction of the Jedi; the seppies were in full retreat with the men at Cody’s command, and with the diplomatic resolution they were waiting on, coverage of the territory would be transferred to the local system army as soon as they arrived and their battalion could go where they were needed.

Cody removed his helmet, the inside of the tent dark compared to the blinding sun hovering over the battlefields outside of it. And he knew from experience that the scar that curved over one side of his face made it easier for whoever was calling to tell him apart from the others. He pressed the blinking button on the comm station, stepping back in slight surprise at the Jedi who materialized there.

“General Windu,” He said, and set his helmet down on the table. His voice didn’t waver, but there was an odd twist to his guts. Something was wrong, even if the stoic expression writ across the Jedi’s face gave nothing away as to the reason for his call. “I was told you needed to speak with me, Sir.”

“Yes, Commander,” There was a pause. Not long enough to merit Cody asking a clarifying question, but just long enough to make him want to, “Can you give an update on the status of the campaign, please?”

“We’ve got them in full retreat, Sir. A local army should be more than able to keep them at bay,” He waited on General Windu to respond, but he seemed to be waiting on…something. “As soon as we receive confirmation from General Kenobi that negotiations for sovereignty have been successful.”

“I’m afraid that’s why I’m calling, Commander.”

“The negotiations failed, Sir?”

“The negotiations never took place,” The Jedi’s voice was grave, “Master Kenobi was attacked by a bounty hunter while attending the diplomatic meeting. He is currently receiving medical care at the Jedi Temple.”

Coruscant was half a day’s travel from here. Why would they take him there and not to the medical complex on Vanmir 5?

“When will he be returning, Sir? We can hold them indefinitely, but I’m sure we will be needed elsewhere.”

“Master Kenobi will not be returning. Not for the foreseeable future.”

“Are we meeting him elsewhere, Sir?” Cody could hear the cracking in his own voice. His question was nonsensical, even to him, and he could see that reflected in General Windu’s face. He didn’t want to say whatever it was, but Cody could see it hanging on the edge of his lips, even though the blue haze that surrounded his image.

“The Vanmir government has agreed to take control of the sight and continue negotiations at a later time. Your battalion will be leaving tomorrow, Commander.”

“And where will be going, Sir?”

“Coruscant,” The word sounded broken. Wrong. A whole battalion, returned to Coruscant? “Master Kenobi is in critical condition, and the 212th are assigned security at the Senate Complex until we get to the bottom of this attack.”

Cody nodded, breath suddenly difficult to come by.

“Please send in your reports in the morning before departure, Commander,” Windu moved, as if he were going to turn off his comm tables off.

“Sir?” He paused, eyes meeting Cody’s, “Can I ask a question, Sir?”

He retracted his hand, putting both behind his back. “Go ahead, Commander.”

“How bad is it, Sir?” He hesitated, “General Kenobi’s condition, I mean.”

There was a long pause, so long that again Cody thought he should perhaps repeat his question. Maybe he simply hadn’t heard him. Maybe he wasn’t trying to weigh up all the ways to say the truth but was instead waiting for Cody’s words

“There is no point in lying, Commander, there is a good chance that the damage Master Kenobi sustained may be…fatal.”

“Thank you, Sir.” He clicked the commlink channel off at Windu’s nod, and picked up his helmet off the table. He didn’t move, listening to the clicking of the men’s boots outside the flap, the laughter of what he thought was Boil, undoubtedly at stupid joke one of them had told. He would have to tell them, and then tell them they were leaving. That they were returning to Coruscant without the General, that they were returning to Coruscant to their General. To Obi-Wan.

He pulled his helmet back on, turning towards the whistling flap. He thought of the General’s face just prior to his departure, making sure that Cody had the link to his emergency comm channel, and smiling as he laughed at himself at not being able to get it to work properly at first.

He thought of Obi-Wan smiling with the men. His hand on Cody’s shoulder in the command tent after a long day. The smell of that horrid herbal tea he always brewed far too early in the morning. And as Cody stepped back into the blinding sunshine, he felt himself cracking in half.

**Senate Hearing Held to Debate Future of Republic Negotiations After Unconditional Surrender Mandate Proposed**

There were moments in the past few days that Padme had forgotten that Anakin was on Corsuscant at all. She always knew when he was there because those were the days and nights that they could spend together, the morning she could wake to his face beside her on the bed in her apartment as they overlooked the city. When they could enjoy breakfast together and he could inform her of all of his latest exploits in far corners of the galaxy and she could enlighten him with all of the frustrations she held at the warmongering she saw in the Senate from people who far more focused on making money off of the war than drawing it to its close. The last few days, though, he may as well have been away for all the time she had seen him.

So it startled her when she saw him on the floor of the Senate, dressed in full Jedi attire with Master Windu and Master Gallia. She paused when she saw him; and to anyone else, she was sure he looked an immaculate, though perhaps slightly tired Jedi. To her though, it was clear that everyone movement was a mountain of effort for him. His steps as he followed Master Windu were dragging, the restless motions that he had always had—whether it was loosening and tightening the central screw on his mechanical arm or doing something similar to his commlink—were nonexistent. He looked gaunt, as though he had been eating and drinking only enough to sate extreme urges of hunger or thirst, but not enough to make them go away. He looked ill.

When he saw her, his demeanor did change minutely, and she gave him a small, subtle smile that he returned. When Master Windu looked up to see her doing it, however, she went over to their group. “Master Jedi,” She said with a slight nod to all three, “I’m glad you’re able to attend the hearing.”

“I wish it could be under better circumstances.”

“Yes,” Padme agreed, “I have heard talk that Master Kenobi’s injuries are improving.”

The small flash of hope that flitted across Anakin’s face broke her heart. The doubt that shadowed Master Windu’s pressed at the pieces remaining.

“For the Senate to consider a blanket unconditional surrender policy so soon after this occurrence is deeply troubling.”

Padme did not know Master Gallia personally, but her reputation was one that Padme was well aware of and her deep, grave tone did not help to soothe Padme’s nerves. For a moment, she felt a flash of anger. That these two Jedi had to, at least on some level, be aware of how Anakin must be feeling and yet they could not bring themselves to muster up any level of optimism for the situation.

“Hopefully, the committee will continue to see reason,” Padme offered, tamping down the anger as she could tell that Master Windu could detect the slight change in her demeanor. “And I’m sure that Jedi presence will help in that regard. Senator Organa and I were discussing that fact only this morning and had hoped some members of the council would be able to attend.”

“We’re happy to be here, Senator,” Master Windu nodded respectfully, and Padme heard the tell-tale sign of the hearing filling with attendees from the Senate chamber.

“You’re welcome to join us for the hearing,” Padme offered, turning to where Senator Organa and Senator Mothma were waiting. She hazarded a smile, “It might make it easier to have most of the dissenters sharing a platform.”

Anakin did smile at that, and all three followed her to her platform where she slid into her seat next to Senator Organa. She could feel Anakin’s gaze on her on occasion, the same intensity as it always held when they could get away with it. The fact that he hadn’t spoken disturbed her slightly; she had been thinking recently that he liked the thrill of hinting that they were together at every possible opportunity to anyone in the area. That he enjoyed the risk that they were taking, the chance that everything could come crumbling around them. It was starting to worry her, but this sort of detachment worried her more. She wondered how much he had slept in the past three days.

“Are you still willing to speak first, Padme?” Bail was friendly as she approached, nodding his greeting to the Jedi, “We should be able to start any moment.”

“Yes, thank you,” She shifted her thoughts away from Anakin, and indeed away from Obi-Wan. No outsiders were allowed into the Halls of Healing, so she had not seen him yet and doubted she would unless he was moved to the Republic Medical Center or was healthy enough to be outside of it again. She would have to argue for the continuation of his work now though, and that meant no distractions.

“The Senate Defense Committee recognizes the Senator from the sovereign system of Naboo,” Padme stood as the platform started to move, lifting them into view of the Senate. The Chancellor was seated now in the center, content to let the committee run the meeting. Padme couldn’t quite identify the look on his face. It wasn’t that of a wholly passive watcher, nor one of a man who’s gvoernment might have been led deeper into a war it was losing. It was…hungry.

The thought sent a chill up her spine, but she shook it away. He had to be just as shaken as the rest of them were by this.

“Thank you, Chairwoman,” She spoke to the committee head first, “I speak today on behalf of our coalition who stand by the belief that there is still a peaceful resolution to this war. To demand unconditional surrender when peace could be achieved by a diplomatic solution means a drain on resources that the Republic cannot afford to maintain. To abandon negotiations not only legitimizes the Separatist’s in their goals, but undermines our own efforts to pursue a future of a United Republic,” She could hear the murmuring around her, feeling the shift as people started to take in what she was saying. This was the plan. She would engage them, Mon would defend against any attack, and Bail would carry their point home. They could win the day.

She took a deep breath and took time to look to each committee member, “The attack on General Kenobi is a severe blow to the ability of the Republic to peacefully negotiate. But it is not the death knell we have been made to believe,” She felt her emotions swelling up, thinking of all of the conversations she and Obi-Wan had had since the start of their tenuous friendship, “Master Kenobi fought for this Republic on the battlefield and through diplomacy alike. To abandon the dream he shares, of a Republic reunited with all systems, for all people of the galaxy, is to ignore all of the work he has done. The Jedi Order stands behind our statement that negotiated settlements are a vital part of the war effort,” She gestured to the cluster of Jedi behind her, “And we honor their sacrifice and leadership of the Grand Army of the Republic by pursuing peace.”

She finished to a wave of applause that echoed around the Senate chambers and into her ears. She sat down as the opposition started to speak. “Excellent job, Padme,” Bail said, and his smile encouraged her. She hoped he was right, that this would be enough. If their initiative failed, it would mean that the option for a peaceful settlement would be little more than a pipe dream. She had confidence in the committee’s decisions, that it would be the right one for the Republic.

She turned her attention to what they were saying, having missed the first part of their opening statement. But as she did, she looked up again at the Chancellor. He was not looking at her, but the strange look on his face remained. She glanced behind her to where Anakin had his eyes cast down, fixed on nothing as he fidgeted with a loose piece of string on his tunic. He hadn’t noticed, then.

She looked back again, just to be certain. The Chancellor’s gaze—intense and hungry and strange—was fixed on Anakin. She swallowed, shaking off the trill of fear to focus on the proceedings.

**Banking Clan Threatens to Withdraw Support of Republic War Effort After Generals Remain Absent from the Frontlines**

“When’s the last time that you went outside?” Ahsoka kept her head carefully turned away from the healing bed where Master Kenobi lay completely still, his ventilator and heart rate monitor that only sign that he was alive.

Anakin looked up at her, eyes narrowed slightly. “I don’t stay in here all day, Ahsoka,” He said, his voice almost faint. She had heard him be a lot of things in their time together, but faint was a new one. “I went into the city last night.”

She wasn’t sure if she believed him, but since there was no sign that he had slept or eaten here, she didn’t say anything to contrary. She felt like she hadn’t been outside in days either. She had been debriefed immediately when she returned, and then interrogated over and over and over again for information about the incident. There wasn’t much she could tell them. It has been easy enough to catch Hardeen. He had surrendered as soon as she’d gotten his rifle away from him, and come without complaint back to Coruscant.

Still the questions continued.

She wasn’t sure what the Council was hoping for her to remember. She hadn’t been involved in most on the negotiation conversations to begin with, instead having spent the early morning talking to some of the Army Officers on Vanmir 5. Both she and Anakin were in the common practice of letting Obi-Wan handle most, if not all, necessary deliberations on missions like these. They tended to be drier than the Dune Sea on Tatooine and usually involved calculating monetary support amounts from Republic policies that neither of them had read particularly carefully. It seemed that Obi-Wan had memorized every aspect down to the pension system tax bracket for civilian army corp members.

“Did Senator Amidala tell you about the Banking Clans response to the hearings this morning?” Something in Anakin’s eyes darkened as he looked back to Ahsoka. She could feel him probing, only slightly, along their bond. He wanted to know what she knew, though she wasn’t sure about what. If it was about the hearings, then it wasn’t much more than Anakin himself would have known. If it was about Senator Amidala…then Ahsoka wasn’t quite sure what she knew.

“Yes,” He said finally, and moved his gaze from her to the bed, “They aren’t happy about the negotiations resolution.”

“And they aren’t happy because other than yesterday’s hearing, neither of you has been seen in public in days, Anakin.” She regretted it as soon as she said it, but there were no taking the words back. Losing Obi-Wan to the public eye was a serious blow to morale, but to lose also Anakin Skywalker…the Banking Clan were not the only ones threatening to withdraw support.

“Obi-Wan is in a coma,” She could hear the thin line of his voice, just on the edge of splintering with repressed rage, “Do they think he’s going to be out making speeches for their benefit?”

“Master Obi-Wan’s condition isn’t public,” She said gently, sitting down next to him. It made it so now she had to look at Obi-Wan. He had never been very big, in fact, if he had been shorter, he and Ahsoka would have been similarly sized. But he had always looked strong, always graceful. He looked now, shrouded completely in white from his blankets and the bed, with tubes extending from his mouth and chest and other parts of his body, almost as though he were floating. As if he might lift, his skin pale and drawn underneath his beard that was starting to lengthen and curl at the ends, and blow away.

“It’s me they want out there,” Anakin confirmed, but said nothing else. Ahsoka shifted her gaze between Anakin and Obi-Wan; Anakin’s eyes were fixed on Obi-Wan’s face, watching for any sign of movement or life. She could tell that he knew that he needed to be seen, to drum up support again and give a show of strength, especially as Obi-Wan’s battalion and his own returned to Coruscant on security detail. Senators were panicking, thinking that they might be next on the list of targets, and having Anakin hidden away was doing nothing to help that feeling. She shook the thought from her head, and looked at Obi-Wan instead, watching a shift in the air system lift a bit of his hair from his forehead. At least they were keeping his hair good and clean.

“His beard is going to need trimmed,” Ahsoka offered softly, thinking of all the times Anakin had rolled his eyes as Obi-Wan had taken the extra seconds to too-long hairs off of his beard before they met with planet diplomats.

“They wanted to shave it off,” Anakin said distantly, “He wouldn’t like that.”

“No,” She laughed a little. The sound was too loud in the small room, and it startled Anakin, who looked over at her in confusion. But she couldn’t help it. It had made her remember the only time she had seen Obi-Wan without a beard after half of it had been singed off by the fallout from a thermal detonator. The look on his face, covered in soot and some of his beard still smoldering, had made her laugh then and it made her laugh now. Especially when she thought of the moment he had realized that it was Anakin who had ordered the detonator dropped in the first place. “No, its better this way.”

They sat in silence for a few more long minutes, Anakin making no other reaction. She had the feeling that he would have liked her to leave, but she was insistent that she not. She could come see Obi-Wan anytime, but this was the first time she had gotten to since they had returned since she had been assigned to the investigation team. And, more than that, she needed to be here for Anakin. He needed to get out, to get some space.

“Master,” She said, and he moved just enough to show that he had definitely heard, “Why don’t you come spar with me? Let yourself be seen. You won’t have to talk to any of them.”

He didn’t answer, and she tried to think of another tactic. But he spoke first.

“Padme thinks I should do the same,” He said, interrupting her thoughts. He stood slowly, as though he were trying to climb out a deep pool of water. He wrapped his gloved hand around the bottom of the bed, watching Obi-Wan’s face as the heart monitor beeped a steady rhythm. “Let’s go,” He said, without looking back to her.

**The Galaxy’s Biggest Question: Who Financed the Attack on Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi?**

He had been anticipating a call for the last three days, ever since news had come that Kenobi had survived Hardeen’s assault. Of course he had. The man was persistent in his unwillingness to die, that was for certain, and it was quite typically of him to do whatever he was able to ruin Dooku’s plans. If Kenobi would have joined him years ago, this mess, and every other mess, could have been easily avoided.

But the call had not come as of yet, and he was left to watch out the window of his chambers, eyes fixed on nothing as he watched the gentle swaying of his garden in the nightly winds. The branches on the trees bent and swayed in the wind, the long grasses losing petals from their flowers. It would be winter on Serenno soon. Perhaps he should find somewhere warmer to stay.

His comm server buzzed and he answered it in the same motion that he stood. He could feel the anger radiating from the figure there. Where it was directed, he could not be sure, but its presence was enough of a warning. He faced the hooded figure of Lord Sidious, careful to keep his eyes low. He was not positive that his Master could reach him here with an attack, but he had seen him do extraordinary things in the force. Dooku was a man who took calculated risks, and provoking Sidious to anger was one that presented little benefit.

“Lord Sidious,” He said, bowing in greeting, “I have been awaiting your call.”

“I trust you have seen the decision of the Senate,” Sidious’s voice was harsh, biting. His anger was not at Dooku then, but at this war committee. Amidala and her impassioned speeches about freedom and peace. All lies, perpetuated by a Republic corrupt to its core.

“Yes, My Lord,” He agreed and looked up, “My own delegation was pleased with the news.”

Playing a balancing act between leading the Separatist Council and undermining their efforts was something he had become an expert at. Pretending to be equally as rejoiced with the decision of the Republic to continue a practice of diplomacy first had not been one of the easiest tasks he had been burdened with.

“Clever of Organa, to propose they name it for Kenobi,” There was less anger in that, more genuine recognition of the stroke of skill that the Alderanian Delegation had presented. A hero of the Republic was dying, the Negotiator, a beacon of hope for peace in the same way Skywalker was evidence that the Jedi were the warriors that legend had always made them out to be. To name a peace-seeking initiative after him as the galaxy held its breath on his life was a move that Dooku could commend. No matter how much of setback it might be. “I did not call to discuss the weakness of certain Senators, Lord Tyrannus.”

“Of course, my Lord.”

“The Jedi have begun their investigation into who hired Hardeen. Skywalker’s apprentice captured him within minutes of the attack.”

“They will never know it is us, my Lord.”

He had made the plan foolproof. Given the information to Ventress, Kenobi’s identity as the target concealed. She had delivered it to one of the Hunter’s guilds in lower Coruscant where talk of Jedi slaying wouldn’t turn any heads—or raise any questions. She had, from a distance, vetted the candidates. One who could do the job, one that didn’t require guild resources to complete their work, one that was smart enough not to make mistakes but stupid enough not to realize that he could simply report the bounty to the Republic for an equal reward. Hardeen, it seemed, had met only two of the four requirements.

“It is good to hear that, Tyrannus,” His Master’s voice was flat. He did not care about Dooku’s reassurances, “You must destroy any trail that leads to you.”

“Yes, My Lord.” Dooku would do as he always did. Enough to keep Sidious satisfied and keep himself steps ahead of his Master.

“Our plan may come to fruition sooner rather than later. Two battalions of clones will soon be on Coruscant and the Jedi could be easily overrun,” He paused and Dooku waited, knowing that there had to be more, “Kill the girl.”

“Skywalker’s apprentice?”

“Your own.” Sidious corrected, “Skywalker’s apprentice will die with the rest. Your apprentice’s mistake has cost us dearly and she is the link between Hardeen’s mistake and your identity. Destroy her.”

Dooku said nothing for a fraction longer than he should have remained silent. And in that moment, knew that Palpatine could sense his hesitation.

“You will eliminate her, my apprentice,” He said, “Or I might think you intended to betray me.”

“Of course not, Master.” He did look up now, to where he knew Sidious’ eyes would be looking out from under his hood, “Ventress will be eliminated.”

“Very good.”

And the room was dark again, the grasses outside swaying gently, the longest tendrils tapping against his window.

**Rako Hardeen: Lucky Shot or Galaxy’s Most Dangerous Criminal?**

It felt like he had a hangover. A particularly bad one that had been centered in the upper left half of his head. At least it was dark in this tiny room they had him in, dark and slightly cold so he could lay his head on his arms and try to get a bit more sleep. He wasn’t sure how long he had been in here, the guards that watched the outside of his cell came in at regular intervals to unlock him so he could use the toilet in the corner, but he had lost track of those. They brought him food, but he had hadn’t thought to count those times either.

For the most part, he was alone with his thoughts. Two people had come in when he had first come here, a man with dark hair and beard and dressed in long, dark blue robes. The other had clearly been a Jedi of some kind, one of the famous ones maybe. He was pretty sure he had seen his picture before. They had asked him basic questions and then left, clearly dissatisfied.

Since he had nothing to do but think, most of what he thought was that accepting this bounty had been one of his stupider decisions. And he had made several in his life, some of which resulted in regular support payments he sent to some backwater on the mid-rim and others that had landed him in situations identical to this one. Or, at least close to this one.

He had been in prison before. Under investigation before. It was part of the calling that he had accepted long ago. Being detained on an unknown floor of the galactic Senate building, being interrogated by Jedi after another Jedi had captured him after he had shot one of the highest-ranking Jedi in the Republic Army. And completely fucked that up.

The shot had been clear, would have gone right through his back and into his heart. But he had seen Kenobi turn as the bullet went through the window. He wondered if he had sensed it coming. He had never understood all the Jedi mumbo-jumbo. For all he knew, Kenobi could show up at any moment and run him through with his lightsaber.

The door slid opened, but it wasn’t Kenobi who stood there. It was the other one, his hair longer and loose, wearing Jedi robes so dark they were almost black. He didn’t look like the other Jedi, who’s face had given nothing away to the point that it was mildly unsettling until right before they left. This one…this one was angry.

The door closed, and the small light above to table buzzed to life. The side of his head throbbed. The other Jedi, the one who had caught him, had pulled his feet out from under him and the hit to the side of his head might have done more damage than he originally thought.

The Jedi sat across from him, his eyes hard as flint. He couldn’t help but think that he didn’t look well. His ears were sunken back into his face, bags underneath them from a lack of sleep. He would have looked almost…frail if it wasn’t for the undercurrent of pure rage that seemed cut into his jaw.

“Who hired you?”

He blinked. He had already told the other Jedi the answer to that question. It was a guild job. High paying, but otherwise standard. No questions asked, no questions answered. Kill Kenobi on Vanmir 5. Kill anyone who attempted to stop him. Don’t get caught. None of those objectives had proven particularly successful.

“Tell me.”

The Jedi’s voice was soft, but Hardeen knew from experience that a soft-spoken man could be ten times as dangerous as the bold and brash ones.

“Guild job,” He leaned back in his chair, letting his eyelids close halfway, “You’d have to ask the guild collectors who gave it them.”

“You’re going to tell me who that is,” The Jedi stood, and their hands, one that felt abnormally strong, were fastened around his collar, lifting him from the floor, “And anything else I want to know.”

Hardeen looked into the Jedi’s eyes, chips of ice, and nodded.


	3. Play the Gambit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the great response, yall! I'm really enjoying writing this ;) 
> 
> As always, I hope you enjoy! Please R and R, let me know what you think!   
> I will start responding to comments very soon! :) Sorry for the delay lol
> 
> Find me on tumblr at this same name

**Could Senators be Target of Next Attack? What We Know About the Guild that Attacked Jedi General Obi-Wan Kenobi**

Though Anakin had not worn traditional Jedi clothing all of his life and could well remember what it felt like to wear others, there was a certain comfort in his tunic and tabards that he always neglected to remember until he was forced to wear something else. There had been various disguises through the years, some more memorable than others, and all varying levels of uncomfortable. Most of them tended to be heavy; ridiculous costumes that felt like caricatures of actual beings. They restricted movement and trapped heat, the opposite of the light weight of his Jedi robes. Others were so light that they had made him feel exposed to any passing danger, like his limbs could move far too easily.

The outfit he wore now tended towards the latter. The clothes were plain, retrieved from stores of old mission wear in the temple closets. A tunic that clung tightly to his skin and had a hood sewn into the back, a thin-fabric vest lined with far more pockets than seemed possible for it to contain, including one that was large enough to his lightsaber. A pair of standard black leggings and black leather boots. He hadn’t looked at himself in the mirror, but since Ahsoka was wearing something similar as she trailed half a step behind him, he could imagine well enough how he looked.

Anakin had not been undercover in longer than he cared to imagine. On any system in the Republic, his face was one of the most recognizable, synonymous with the war effort and with the Jedi. More than one person, from Padme to Master Windu, had been clear in their opinion that this was probably a bad idea. He didn’t care.

Most of their fears stemmed from the fact that it was still unclear whether or not the attack on Obi-Wan had been part of a larger assault on the Jedi or a specific attack. And yet, it seemed to Anakin, that they were unwilling to do what it took to find an answer. Afraid of what they might find at the end of that string of clues.

He walked past the subtle vibrations passing from the nearest nightclub, glowing with neon and filling the air with the slight tang of alcohol and sex and sweat. He waited for Ahsoka to say something, to make some sarcastic remark like she might have a week ago when they had passed by a similar venue on Vanmir 5, but she stayed silent. He could feel her anxiety vibrating outward along their bond. Barely perceptible; just enough to set his teeth on edge.

It was hard to be angry with her about it. This was deeper in the Coruscant underbelly than even Anakin had ever been when he was collecting black market droid parts as a Padawan. Even then, when Obi-Wan had pulled him out of a junkyard in the middle of the night as some goon threatened to cut off his ear for alleged theft, he had never been this far below the surface and into whatever festered below the city. He was almost certain that they had passed a body, or at least what was left of one, coming out where Anakin had parked their speeder among a group of others. The speeder looked out of place—the Chancellor had offered it to him—among the beaten and battered pieces of equipment there, but it stuck out less than one of the official temple vehicles would have looked. Still, he would be surprised if it was still there when they returned.

He felt the tracker in one of his many pockets start to vibrate softly, and reached into his pocket to turn it off, gesturing for Ahsoka to stop. A being across the street, their face shrouded in smoke, twitched a portion of tentacles. They were watching them, clearly, but whether they were a lookout for the Guild or simply someone who interested in anyone’s presence here. As Anakin punched in the code he had gotten from Hardeen into the grungy keypad hidden in the doorway of an otherwise nondescript building, they slunk inside the building they had been standing in front of, dropping his still-smoking dart back on the ground.

The door unlocked with a heavy click, and Anakin pushed it open slowly, making sure Ahsoka stayed close enough to him to catch it as it started to close behind them. The inside of the room they had stepped into was packed wall-to-wall with bodies and cheaply made furniture. It stank of bitter liquor and smoke and spice that filtered up into the air and made his eyes start to water. He blinked the feeling away, hoping Ahsoka had the sense to do the same. Showing weakness here could spell disaster for them both. The noise level in the room didn’t change as the door shut behind them, but he knew distinctly that they were being watched carefully by at least half the room—all experts in watching without being noticed. He didn’t care.

He looked around the room, grateful for the identity concealing that the smoky haze offered but frustrated as he looked for the woman who matched Hardeen’s description as the Guild Collector. One of the other patrons, a clawdite nursing some sort of dull yellow cocktail, slid their hand to their blaster as Anakin finally caught sight of who they’d come for. As they stepped towards them, the hand slipped away again.

As he pushed through the cramped tables to get through them, he could feel slick hands sliding into the outer pockets of his vest, ready to pull out whatever they could find. He could feel his lightsaber remain concealed, the crystal pressed warmly to his chest, and was grateful he had thought to keep his commlink and the pack of credits they had brought for a potential bribe contained underneath his tunic.

The woman they approached was a humanoid, her skin tinged pale green and her hair knotted in a long braid that hung over her chair. Small horns protruded from her forehead. Anakin thought she might be the same species as Master Koth—Hardeen hadn’t known the name—but couldn’t be positive. It wasn’t as though it mattered. Watching them approach, she stopped her conversation with the Kubaz on the seat next to her, who gave a few final clicks as they vacated their seat and walked towards the long bar at the back of the room.

“Don’t do any freelance jobs,” She said, as soon as Anakin was within earshot, “Guild crew only.”

Anakin noticed for the first time the pair of bounty hunter pucks in her fingers. Who’s name did they have on them? Padme? Himself?

“We’re not here for a job,” Anakin took the seat across from her, Ahsoka sliding into the vacant one beside him.

She didn’t respond at first, taking a long drink of whatever she had in her cup. He could feel Ahsoka’s disgust which mirrored his own between the smell of it and the fact that it was releasing slight curls of steam the same green color as her skin. “Then you’re in the wrong place.”

“No,” Anakin shook his head. He should have employed the Obi-Wan tactic of getting other people to talk about themselves. It tended to work almost flawlessly and to get you whatever information you wanted plus any extra. But his patience was rapidly diminishing. “I came to talk to you.”

“Well, we’ve got an opening if you’re looking to apply,” She leaned forward and moved her gaze from Anakin to Ahsoka, “Kill your friend here and you can join right now.”

“An opening because Rako Hardeen’s been captured?”

She laughed at that—cold and cruel. It echoed around the room, starting with the table next to them who had heard Anakin, and who passed on what he said to the people next to them.

“Rako’s an idiot for taking that job,” She said, passing the two pucks between her fingers rapidly, “Glad we were able to drop the dead weight.”

“What was wrong with the job?”

She snorted, finishing the last of her drink and setting the glass on the table. She kept her gaze locked with Anakin’s and leaned back in her chair until the front legs came free of the ground. “You ever fought a Jedi?”

Certainly more than this woman had. Anakin nodded.

“Then you’ll know those gravel maggots are hard to kill,” She shook her head, still smiling with a set of fangs that gleamed darkly in the low light, “And to try and kill Obi-Wan Kenobi? Like I said, Rako’s an idiot and now the whole galaxy knows it.”

“So, you’ve haven’t got other Jedi hits, then?”

She narrowed her eyes to where they were barely more than slits, “Guild business,” She moved one hand to her waist, presumably to a blaster. “Who did you say you were?”

“I didn’t,” Anakin responded. “I need information on the Hardeen job.”

“Pucks dead,” She said, and took her blaster from its holster, laying it on the table with the tip pointed at Anakin’s heart. “Rako will be, too.”

“I don’t want the job,” Anakin said thinly, ignoring the blaster to stare hard back into her gaze, “I want to know who it came from.”

She laughed again, this time only to herself, as she closed her eyes for a moment. “Guild business,” She said shortly, “And even if it wasn’t, its not my policy to ask questions.”

“No,” Anakin agreed, “But it is mine.”

That clearly hadn’t been the answer she was expecting, and she straightened slightly in her seat, looking him over more carefully than she had since they had arrived. He felt the first trickle of trepidation. “You look familiar.”

He didn’t answer, and was grateful that Ahsoka had chosen not to interject herself into the conversation. They were in dangerous territory now, and had none of the answers they had come for.

“Nothing about that job that was normal,” She said finally. To Anakin, it was clear she was going to offer as little information as possible to get him to leave. Whether she knew he was a Jedi or not still wasn’t clear, and her blaster twitched in her hand, still leveled at his chest, as if she were debating to just shoot him now and get it over with. Judging by some of the dark spots stained into the metal, she had done a fair share of shooting prior to their meeting here. “Droid dropped off the information.”

A droid? Frustration boiled in his gut. A person, he could do at least something to track. But a droid? He sucked back a wave of hopelessness.

“A droid dropped off a hit that big?”

“Sure did,” She twisted the pucks again, the motions distracting, “Found it dismantled outside about an hour after that.”

Another dead lead then. He did his best to keep his face passive, but could tell she had noticed the distress that the twitch of his muscles betrayed. Before she could take advantage, he spoke:

“Anything else you can remember?” He reached for the pack of credits, her grip tightening on her blaster in case he were to withdraw a weapon. He set down the first handful, enough to buy a speeder on the table. “Anything useful at all?”

She looked at the credits, sucking her tongue along the bottom of her teeth. “Think the client vetted them herself.”

“Why do you say that?”

She didn’t speak again, looking at him expectantly, and he added a second handful to the pile. Padme hadn’t asked why he was taking so many credits out of the joint safe in their apartment when he had said he was going to the Halls of Healing, and in that moment he was grateful that she couldn’t see this particular exchange.

“See that table?” She pointed to where an Aqualash and an Ortolan seemed to be in a heated game of cards in the far corner. “Was there every night until Hardeen picked up the puck. Had another guy take it first and a droid brought it back to me half an hour later.”

“Did she kill them for taking it?”

“Yeah,” The Guild Collector let out a short laugh, “Sure seems like she did.”

“Who was she?”

“No idea.”

“What did she look like?”

Another spout of silence. Another stack of credits.

“Wore a hood most of time. Pale though, and bald.”

**Havoc in the Mid-Rim: 21 st Nova Corps Under Siege by Separatist Forces Led by General Grievous on Mygeeto**

“We don’t be able to hold off the assault much longer,” General Mundi was yelling through the sheets of rained that pounded the space around his comm station, the noise of background gunfire peppering his words as the bomb explosions rattled his image. “The city center has already been evacuated.”

“Made contact with Greivous, have you?” Master Yoda spoke from his chair, and Cody shifted so that he could hear both at once. Fox has shifted as well, he noticed, though the fact that he kept his helmet on gave little away in terms of what he was thinking.

“No,” Mundi yelled back, his image disappearing entirely for a moment with the sound of an explosion far too close for comfort, “He is in hiding behind the front of the fleet. He knows we are overrun.”

“Usually lead the assault, Greivous does,” Yoda said thoughtfully, “Strange behavior, this is.”

“Forgive my candor, Master Yoda, but I think he is aware I am the only Jedi present,” General Mundi sounded strained as he said it, a different sort of straining than it had been giving his initial report. There were no Jedi, Cody knew, because their numbers were dwindling. Two battalions with their generals and the Guard on Coruscant. Other battalions without generals who had joined the rubble and corpses strewn on distant battlefields, who’s lightsabers had been folded in with the others in Greivous’ cloak. “He won’t consider that a good enough prize.”

The look on Yoda’s face was grave as he considered the words, but Cody could tell that the same thought had occurred to him.

“Excuse me for my intrusion, Sir,” Cody said, all sets of eyes turning to him, “We can’t afford to let the Separatists hold the production facilities on Mygeeto. Their droid production in the mid-rim would increase ten-fold. There’s a good chance they could overwhelm our other troops in the system in short order.”

The look on Yoda’s face did not change, which made Cody think that he had considered this as well. “A solution, have you, Commander?”

“Our battalion can provide aerial support to General Mundi,” Cody said, even as the words hurt coming out of his throat. It would be taking the men back into battle without their General. This wasn’t unheard of. Obi-Wan Kenobi was a man in high demand, but unlike every other time they had gone elsewhere without him, this time they would have to leave him behind. He swallowed the thought and looked to Fox who nodded his support, “Commander Fox and his guard are more than capable of defending Coruscant.”

“If the Republic sees the 212th rejoin the fray without Obi-Wan, then our fragile hold on the libel that is being spread will end,” The voice of General Windu came from the doorway, and Cody looked up as he walked in. He was scheduled for a departure in short order to provide support on another system where the 501st had been meant to relocate after the settlement on Vanmir. All holes in the plan, Cody realized, all open wounds for the Republic. And here he was, unable to help his general, unable to help his brothers. “I appreciate your courage, Commander, but that isn’t something we can afford right now.”

“All due respect, Sir,” Cody said, “If we don’t hold Mygeeto, rumors won’t be the biggest thing we have to worry about.”

The deep set lines in General Windu’s face hinted that the had not been sleeping well. Like Cody then, who had found himself pacing the halls of the clone quarters on Coruscant deep into the hours of the night, overwhelmed with images he couldn’t quite force to go away. And what had he been thinking of? The General. Rako Hardeen, who’s image had been plastered all over the Holo-News on every station that played through the Senate building. Every time he saw it, Cody wanted to close his fist around the man’s throat until the life drained from his eyes. Not thoughts that he should be having, or that Obi-Wan would want him to have.

“Another solution, there is,” Master Yoda said, after the seconds of consideration had ticked away, “Summon Captain Rex, we should. Lead the battalion, Commander Tano will.”

“Without General Skywalker?” Fox spoke now, voice impassive through his helmet. But Cody could detect the tinge of disbelief. And he agreed: Commander Tano was undoubtedly talented, but still a child with no experience leading the battalion.

“Sending Skywalker makes the most sense,” General Windu agreed, his voice darkening, “Getting him out of the temple might be the best thing for him.”

“Disagree, I do,” Yoda said, in a tone that Cody had never quite heard before, “Need him here, Master Kenobi does. Lead the battalion alongside Captain Rex, Ahsoka will. Hold the city center until help arrives, you must, Master Mundi.” 

“I’ll comm Rex to come and receive his information,” Fox said, stepping away.

General Mundi bid his good-bye and disappeared, leaving the room strangely quiet. General Windu stepped over to speak with Yoda before taking his departure with a nod to both Cody and Fox, who was speaking quickly to Rex through the commlink in his arm. Cody felt lost for a moment, caught in a limbo of activity.

He couldn’t help the thought that wormed its way all the way to the front of his mind. He had not been able to see his general yet, and knew nothing beyond the scraps of news he had been able to pick up from the Jedi who attended war meetings. If the General, his General, needed Skywalker here, was it because the situation was more dire than he had been led to believe? Why wouldn’t they let him see him? Cody didn’t fully understand Jedi traditions, and now understood this one least of all.

He let out a long breath, leaning down onto the comm table as they waited for Rex to meet with Ahsoka and come to meet them. He knew full well that whatever emotions were battling inside of him were free knowledge to Yoda, who could sense his feelings with disturbing clarity. But he couldn’t help it.

The image of Rako Hardeen, of Obi-Wan with blood spilling freely from a hundred different wounds, a thousand different ways to push him closer towards death that followed them everywhere, had haunted Cody for days. And now Obi-Wan needed Skywalker here so that he might live. So that he might fight back against this.

And Cody, closing his eyes to let the image fill his mind’s eye for a moment, couldn’t help but wonder if Obi-Wan might need him too.

**Is Obi-Wan Kenobi Already Dead? Rumors Fly as Doors to Jedi Temple Remain Closed to the Public**

“I finally read the book of Rodian poetry that you recommended: _Honey Amongst the Flowers,”_ The soft voice of Bant Eerin was the first thing that greeted Anakin as he walked into Obi-Wan’s room. It was followed by a soft laugh, “I’m not sure the translations into basic do it justice. I’ll have to see It performed on stage like you recommended.”

When Anakin stepped into the room, the sight that greeted him made his breath choke in his chest for a moment. There was Bant, standing over Obi-Wan’s bed, bending his legs carefully at the knees in gentle, but steady motions. He knew that the healers had been doing this, standard care for patients in a state like Obi-Wan’s, to keep the muscles from atrophying and to keep blood circulating and air moving. His clothes had been changed, the soft white leggings they had on him the day before now a pale blue. The bandages wrapped tightly around his upper body were changed, too, as pristine white as the sheets of his bed.

“You’ve got company,” She said, and looked up at Anakin with a gentle smile that spread all the way to her large, soft yellow eyes, “Maybe soon you’ll be awake to speak with him, yourself.”

_Anakin sat on one of the soft benches in the waiting area of the Halls of Healing, listening to scrambling feet and more than one loud shout as the Healers reset the bones in Obi-Wan’s shoulder. He hadn’t been able to keep the tears from staining his cheeks—it was entirely his fault that Obi-Wan had gone over the side of that cliff of their mission, if he had been paying more attention, he wouldn’t have wondered into that nest of lizard creatures and needed an emergency rescue. And now, after an agonizing hour of flying with two dislocated shoulders and possible internal bleeding, he and Obi-Wan were back at the temple._

_The door had opened, and he had half expected it to be one of the Masters from the Council to tell him that this was proof he wasn’t meant to be a Jedi after all and that he could begin to pack his things and return to Tatooine. In that brief instant, he had imagined the look on his mother’s face at seeing him back, a failure who had almost killed his Master. And he thought of Obi-Wan, his harsh gasps of pain as he had tried to pull himself back up the hill to make sure Anakin, completely uninjured, was all right._

_But the person who came through was not a member of the Council. It was one of the Healers, a Mon Calamarian that Anakin thought that maybe he had seen before. He had been at the temple a little over a year, and it still seemed that he met new Jedi all the time, especially when he and Obi-Wan were at the temple for extended periods of time. Like they were about to be, if they decided to let Anakin stay._

_“Hello,” She had said, and sat down on the bench next to him, “Are you Anakin?”_

_He had nodded, and reached up a sleeve to wipe the tears off of his face. If they had sent her to tell him to leave, he would at least make sure he wasn’t crying._

_“I’ve been wanting to meet you for a long time, Anakin,” And she had smiled. A move so unexpected that Anakin had simply stared at her in disbelief. “My name is Bant Eerin.”_

_He knew that name. She was in many of Obi-Wan’s stories, and stories about Obi-Wan that other people had told him much to Obi-Wan’s chagrin._

_“Hi,” He said, suddenly embarrassed at how thick his voice sounded from crying, “It’s nice to meet you, Master Eerin.”_

_“You can call me Bant, if you’d like,” She said, and patted one of her webbed hands against his knee. He had nodded, and sat, still half-expecting her to tell him to leave. “Are you waiting on Obi-Wan to get done?”_

_As if she had spoken it into existence, the sound of a horribly loud pop and accompanying shout of pain came from the door. She had looked at Anakin, and given him a sympathetic look at the wince that he had, fresh tears pressing at his eyes._

_“I know it sounds bad,” She said, “But believe me, Obi-Wan’s survived worse.”_

_He must have looked skeptical because she continued, “When Obi-Wan and I were Padawans, he saved my life, you know?” Anakin shook his head. “He did,” She reassured him, “And almost died doing it.”_

_She had told him the story then, of Bruck Chun and Xanatos’ attack on the temple and Obi-Wan saving her life in the Room of a Thousand Fountains. It was captivating, so much so that until there was a second, louder shout, that Anakin had almost forgotten why else they were sitting there. It all came back in that moment, however, and he had stared hard at the door in trepidation._

_“I’ll tell you what, Anakin,” She said, following his gaze, “I’ll peak inside and see how its going, okay? And I’ll give you and update.”_

_She had stood and opened the door, slipping inside. He hadn’t expected her to really come back. Most adults, when they said things like that were using it as an excuse to go do something else. But the door reopened and she had come back out, sitting back down next to him._

_“He’s going to be just fine,” She said, and at Anakin’s look, had raised her arms in defense, “I mean it. He’ll be sore for a few days,” She admitted, “But he’ll be fine. As long as there’s no more cliff diving on your next mission.”_

_She had laughed a little at her own joke and that, plus the news, had him laughing as well until Obi-Wan emerged from the room, looking wary but much better. That night, after Bant had joined them for dinner and Obi-Wan hadn’t said anything even slightly angry about the incident, Anakin had let himself relax again._

“Bant,” He said, “I didn’t realize you were assigned to Obi-Wan’s care.”

“I’m not,” She said, moving into a second set of stretches for him, “But I thought I would come see him today.” She turned towards Obi-Wan’s still face, her tone teasing, “Not that he’s the most talkative company right now.”

Anakin couldn’t help but smile. Ever since that first time he had met Bant, she had that affect on him. And on Obi-Wan, who always seemed gentler around her than he was with most other people. They had a bond that Anakin envied at times, especially since he knew they didn’t see each other that often and still their affection seemed to never change. Only with Obi-Wan and Padme and Ahsoka had Anakin ever felt anything like that.

“Not the most talkative, that’s for certain,” Anakin said, and debated whether he should sit or stand. He decided to stand, and walked over to the bed, looking down at Obi-Wan’s face. Ahsoka was right, his beard would need trimmed soon. “Can you show me how to do that? I can do it for him when I’m in here.”

“Like this,” She said, and showed him the simple folding and compression motions she was using.

“Can I overdo it?” He asked, worried about causing further damage.

“It shouldn’t be a problem,” She reassured him, “And doing it often helps prevent all sorts of issues.”

She worked with practiced ease as Anakin watched, memorizing what she was doing and the extent that she did it. Always gentle, always soothing motions, care evident in each motion of her strong hands.

“I don’t think I’ll have to do this too long,” She said, looking down at Obi-Wan’s face, “I think you’ll wake up any day now. Won’t you, Obi-Wan?”

Anakin’s gut clenched hard. Obi-Wan’s face remained impassive, the ventilator covering his mouth fogging over just slightly. How could she have so much faith when it felt like there was nothing to cling to? When every moment felt like just a bit longer of a never-ending reality?

Even now, with Anakin knowing his next step in solving this mystery, in figuring out who was behind this, it felt like the hope was being choked out of him. Watching Bant who was now humming softly, a song that he knew Obi-Wan himself used to hum often, he couldn’t help but let hope that they might make it through this after all swell a bit stronger in his chest.

**The Next Big Question in the Republic: Who is Ahsoka Tano?**

Ahsoka knew very little about Mygeeto other than that it was covered in ice and home to several metal refineries that made it very vital to the Separatists. One third of the axis of evil, according to the mission report she had received. A graveyard for nearly half of the 21st Nova Corps.

Rex hadn’t been there either, and even though he remained stoic as ever, it was clear to Ahsoka that he was worried about their prerogative. They were tagged for initial aerial support, which seemed simple enough until they had gotten a ground readout of where they were flying into and there had been so many ground turrets logged on the map that the map had hardly been visible for the glowing red dots. Half of the troops would be dropped off with her at the base where Master Mundi had retreated to, the other half would be directed by Rex from the command ship as they took out the large crafts from above.

But it was hard to focus on Mygeeto at the moment. Or anything else other than the fact that she knew that Anakin would be preparing to go after Asajj Ventress as soon as he could commission a ship to do it. She hadn’t wanted to leave him, but there was no way to explain that without also revealing that the pair of them had been chasing clues provided by the man who had tried to kill Master Obi-Wan into the depths of Coruscant only two nights earlier. It was a miracle, she thought, that no one had tried to kill them. And an even bigger one that no one had stolen the Chancellor’s speeder.

She hadn’t wanted to leave Coruscant at all. The investigation into Hardeen’s motives was going nowhere, and even the _Holo-News_ had shown proof that the situation on Mygeeto was getting more and more dire. She had expected them to send Master Windu’s battalion to help them, or maybe even Anakin, at least for a short period of time. She hadn’t expected to be pulled off of the investigation and thrown into this.

“Commander Tano,” Rex stepped onto the deck, ducking low to avoid hitting his head on the doorframe, “Just thought you might want to see this.”

He handed Ahsoka the new map of the city center. On it was clearly marked a familiar heath station. Grievous. Master Yoda had said Grievous might be here, but that he had been in hiding with no sign of his position. Why come out now?

“He must know that our battalion is coming,” Rex said gravely, “There goes our surprise advantage.”

“A battalion wouldn’t pull Grievous out of his hiding spot,” Ahsoka said, and as she did, the truth of what was happening hit her in full force. “But Anakin would.”

“I don’t understand.”

“He thinks Anakin is coming,” She said, handing the pad back to him. Greivous’ main objective was to kill Jedi, as many of them as possible. To Ahsoka’s knowledge, he and Anakin had never fought and that would be too sweet of a prize to resist. “We’ll just have to be ready for him.”

She said it confidently, and Rex nodded agreement, but she could feel the trill of fear that ran through her. If Grievous was coming-- whether he was expecting Anakin or not-- he was coming for her.

**Separatist Council Issues Message of Good Faith Following Assassination Attempt of Jedi General Obi-Wan Kenobi; Denies All Involvement in Hiring of Hardeen**

“The girl will soon be on Mygeeto,” Dooku spoke smoothly into the commlink, the shrouded figure of Grievous, “Lord Sidious wants her dead.”

“Skywalker’s battalion?” He hacked out a cough, “This child is hardly a test for my skills. Or worth our time.”

“She is a liability,” Dooku said, his patience running thin. “Kill her, General. This is not a negotiation.”

“Won’t be many of those without Kenobi,” He made a sound that Dooku assumed was a laugh. He restrained his recoil of disgust at the creature that Grievous had made himself into. To sever one’s connection with the force so willingly, to replace one’s own body with machine…

“I won’t take any more of your time,” Dooku cut him off, “I expect a report back this time tomorrow.”

“I will bring you her lightsaber.” The droid assured him.

“Both of them, I hope,” Dooku said to himself, turning his thoughts to the Separatist Council waiting for him once he departed his ship. He wondered if they might have lunch prepared.


	4. Shadows of Doubt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your continued support of this story!   
> It's great fun to write and fun to plan :))   
> We might get a visit from a certain Jedi Master in the next chapter ;))
> 
> Anywho, as always, I hope you enjoy! Please R and R, let me know what you think! 
> 
> Find me on tumblr at this same name! (I just started a Bad Things Happen Bingo Card, so if you want to send in requests related to it, you can see it there)

**Amidala, Organa, and Mothma: Frontline Defender’s of Peace? Or Dangerous Deniers of the Reality of War?**

“Thank you for the invitation to meet, Chancellor,” Bail bowed to the Chancellor, stopping short of the man’s desk. Padme followed suit, offering a small dip of her head as she stepped up alongside him and Mon did the same on his far side. Bos Ameeda regarded the two of them impassively. He never revealed much of what he was feeling, and his omnipresent work with the Chancellor had always unsettled Padme. Now was no exception, especially since they had been led to believe this would be a private meeting.

“Of course,” Palpatine waved his hand in greeting, gesturing for them to sit in the chairs he had obviously had moved in for them to occupy. His voice was warm, almost grandfatherly as he spoke. It gave the air almost as though he wished that he could have spoken more often, that he had missed their company. While it wasn’t necessarily uncommon for she and the Chancellor to meet, and she had often exchanged friendly conversation with him about their shared home planet, there was an odd, squirming feeling in her mind. Something about this meeting was not quite right. “I wanted to congratulate you on your success. Your Kenobi Initiative will save thousands of credits for the Republic that are better spent elsewhere.”

“And thousands of clone lives,” Bail said, and Padme could hear the touch of anger in his tone that he tried to hide.

“And lives, of course.”

“Thank you for your support, Chancellor,” Senator Mothma spoke, “We can only hope now that soon Master Kenobi will be able to return to the frontlines.”

“Is there any word on his condition?” Palpatine’s long fingers laced together on the desk in front of him, his expression so full of concern that Padme had to wonder if perhaps Obi-Wan and the Chancellor were closer than she had realized. Thinking back on every—any—conversation she had ever had with Obi-Wan about the man, that made very little sense. It was a masterful mask, that she could give him credit for. Her uneasiness increased ever-so-slightly before she shook it off again.

“The Jedi Healers say they are optimistic about his recovery,” Padme spoke up now, passing along information that Anakin had relayed to her the night before, “Hopefully he’ll be past the worst of his injuries soon.”

“Yes, and back leading his now namesake initiative.”

It was twice now, that he had mentioned it. Though he hadn’t said it, and there was nothing in his tone to indicate irritation, it struck her that he was annoyed by the negotiation initiative’s existence.

Throughout the war, the Chancellor had become an interesting figure in Padme’s eye. His impassioned speeches had undoubtedly been what had secured them funding for a variety of initiatives that branched well beyond the war effort and into the traveling libraries and school they had developed for children in war zones and the refugee settlement areas on many planets including Naboo. His support had also purchased hundreds of war ships, thousands of suits of armor and bushels of munitions that had made the difference seemingly on every planet. Lost causes that his intervention always seemed to save, desperate hours that he quickly became the political hero of.

It was not until this moment that she had realized that exact connection. Bail had mentioned it before, in passing. How the Chancellor seemed to benefit greatly from every narrow victory, no matter how battered the battalion was that left that had secured the planet. She had pushed the idea away, swept up in those same moments by Anakin’s adrenaline, spurred on by his gratitude for the Chancellor’s intervention. She had chalked it up to the fact that while Bail was informed, intelligent, and obviously compassionate, but that he didn’t have the insight that she did. That he couldn’t see the magnitude of difference between an almost loss and scarce victory for the people who were elbows deep in the war effort like she could. Until this moment.

“With our new team of diplomats accompanying the Jedi on missions, Master Kenobi can have the rest he needs to recover,” She said, and at her side, Bail nodded with his trademark slight smile on his face, “Is that what you wished to discuss, Chancellor?”

“I’m sure they are up to the task, Senator Amidala,” His gaze fixed on her and the uneasiness faded minutely. Whatever else might be motivating Palpatine at the moment, he was, as always, disarmingly charming. Now that made a trickle of cold unease run along her spine. “I wanted to discuss another upcoming vote, however.”

“Of course,” Padme replied, and ran through the upcoming voting initiatives in her mind. Neither she nor Bail nor Mon had proposed any to her knowledge, and all three of them had been so entrenched in hammering out the framework of this negotiation block that it had proven difficult to keep track of everything that was happening.

“There has been a proposal for the purchase of an additional two million clone units,” He said smoothly.

The reality hit Padme like a wall. She had seen that vote on the war committee’s agenda, but hadn’t known it had gained enough traction for a broad proposal. One look at her companions told her that they felt the same. Only months before, they had defeated a similar proposal by such narrow margins that Padme remembered the deep, unyielding sleep she had fallen into that night that had lasted until early afternoon the following day as the adrenaline had finally run its course.

“That proposal died in committee,” Mon was the first to recover, though she couldn’t keep the shock from her voice. “The Senate has made its voice on this quite clear.”

“Who is proposing the bill?” Bail added, now his voice edged with anger.

“Multiple systems,” Palpatine said, no surprise evident in his voice, only a touch of shared distress, “With all of the recent uptake in fighting and so many of the Jedi being forced to retreat to Coruscant, many feel that this will secure our current position.”

“They must see that funding additional troops will only prolong the war,” Padme interjected, and the Chancellor’s eyes met hers again, “As soon as the Seperatists know we’re making that sort of investment, this will devolve into an arms race.”

“How would the Separatist’s come to know of our plan, Senator?”

Palpatine’s question was met with silence until Mon spoke again, voice barely regulated, “Have you called us here to ask our support for this bill, Chancellor? Surely, you cannot expect that from each of us.”

“I have asked you here to see what you might be interested in in exchange for your support,” Palpatine said, nodding slowly. Padme felt her mouth dry, tongue suddenly heavy and sticking to the roof of her mouth, as though there was nowhere comfortable for it to go. “I’m afraid that this time, there is little chance of stopping the bill.”

“You would coerce us then?” Bail was indignant.

“The bill will pass,” The Chancellor never moved from his position, only his eyes switching back and forth between them, “I am trying to offer to you other benefits. Use this as an opportunity for some of the humanitarian initiatives that have died in committee. When I go to speak, I will insist that they pass alongside any expansion of the war effort.”

There was silence again, and the wavering of hopelessness that Padme had been feeling in increasing frequency as of late. Was it already certain, then? Had she missed the whispers and shouts of her colleagues in her own desperation to make sure the negotiation initiative prevailed? Should they take this opportunity, then? Build the hospitals and schools and emergency food aid in all the planets that had been so long ignored by the Senate as their people starved….

“I am on your side,” Palpatine said, and his voice dripped with sorrow and sincerity. But Padme looked up, the sound not comforting as it might have been only an hour before. Looking into his eyes, now fixed on her, she wasn’t sure she believed him.

**Mysteries of the Force Revealed in Exclusive Frontline Interview with Jedi Master Mace Windu**

Cody stood in the lobby of the Senate building, helmet pulled down over his face, keeping his face covered from anyone who passed by. The Senators, walking and talking in small huddles, were extremely on edge. Since the start of the war, the Coruscant guard under Fox had manned the Senate building, but now with members of 212th battalion also planted at strategic locations, it was as though they had noticed the soldier’s presence for the first time. To Cody, it seemed that this was perhaps the first time that they had actually considered the war. He didn’t have to be there, standing along the sides as though he were one of those on watch, but the restlessness of being in the trooper barracks had been getting to him. He had decided to do his walkthrough rounds early to have something, anything, to do, and now he was possibly regretting that decision.

A number of them had stopped to observe one of the dozen holo-projectors that showcased the most recent frontlines interview with General Windu. Cody had seen the frontline interviewers multiple times—the men called them Vultures—because apparently any story that showcased his own general or General Skywalker was a guaranteed ratings hit. It was not uncommon for one of the men to be interviewed, though Cody doubted that anyone who did not know them could, or would bother, telling them apart. Their names, unlike the General’s, weren’t listed underneath them on the interviews.

From what Cody could tell, this interview had been a good one. General Windu was calm as he always was, not hinting at the dire situation on Mygeeto as his battalion had instead gone to secure another planet near the Vanmir system. It would be an easy win, and a short campaign. The perfect thing to boost morale.

But not for Cody.

Mostly because he knew better. While it wasn’t strictly forbidden by any means, he had the feeling that many of the Jedi leading the war effort would be quite unhappy with the correspondence he was receiving from Rex. The reports of swaths of Mygeeto where dozens of clones had been slaughtered in rows and left to the ice. Patches of city where nothing remained but rain and rubble and the scorched terrain that came with carpet explosive coverage. The seemingly impenetrable aerial line of Grievous’ fleet and the devastation to their small band of pilots. It had taken them four days to land Commander Tano at the retreat sight, and Rex hadn’t heard from her since after all of their communication except the occasional coordinate drop had been completely disconnected from General’s Mundi.

But it wasn’t Mygeeto which Cody was finding most distressing at the moment: It had been nearly nine standard days since he had been on Corsuscant and he still hadn’t been able to see the General. When his rounds were over and his reports filed, his feet carried him to the Jedi temple. He suspected that they did not like him being in there, from the looks that followed him from the elderly masters and small children that passed by him in the hallways. But they didn’t restrict his access either, allowing him to wander through the public areas of the temple.

The Halls of Healing were sealed shut, though, impassable to any that weren’t specifically allowed in. His boots made a soft clacking sound on the floor outside the entrance way as he passed in front of it time and time and time again. Only once had someone come out when he was there. Skywalker, the dark circles under his eyes telling the clear story of limited sleep.

He had stared at Cody when he had stepped out, and Cody had had the uncomfortable sensation that he was being peeled apart, layers and layers of himself that he didn’t even know existed. And then, Skywalker had finally answered every question he had, without Cody having to speak a word. Details on his injuries, expectations, if any, for recovery. Everything.

Thinking on it now, Cody wondered if he had been better off not knowing. In a way, his pacing outside of the doors could have revealed anything. Before he knew better, Obi-Wan might have emerged at any moment, might have come and greeted Cody with a hand on his shoulder and a soft smile. He might have had that look on his face as he did when they finished a long mission, or when they ended a particularly grueling negotiation with someone delusional about the value of their planet in the scope of things.

Now though, even though Cody still walked each night, and breathed the soothing air that surrounded the halls that smelled of aloe and fresh water and the green spaces on planets that Cody had forgotten he remembered, that hope was gone. Standing now in the Senate building looking at Senators who were debating how many of Cody’s brothers it was worth killing to keep themselves safe, it was hard to feel any hope at all.

It felt as though the war were waning, and not in the Republic’s favor. How long before the money ran out? Before the men ran out? How long before Skywalker stepped out of the medbay to tell him that Obi-Wan had died from his injuries? He turned to watch as the interview with General Windu started again on the nearest holo-screen and forced the optimism the reporter was trying to project to sink in deeper than his skin.

**Separatist Retreat from Vanmir System: Kenobi’s Legacy Secured with Control Returned to Local Leaders**

Anakin held Obi-Wan against, his chest, saying nothing as the medical droid scanned the wound on his back. He hadn’t looked at it since they had been on the ship returning from Vanmir 5, and he didn’t look at it now. It didn’t smell of infection any longer, nor of charred skin and blood and bone. A relief—small—but a relief nonetheless.

Obi-Wan didn’t moved as the droid finished scanning, filing the report into its data banks and the two healers present began to wrap his torso again with the thick medical gauze. He wanted to know what the droid had detected, what the records said, but he didn’t ask. Instead, he kept Obi-Wan upright, and when the medics were done with the gauze, he lowered him slowly back down to the bed. It was by chance that he had been here for this; Bant told him that usually it took three of them to get his wrappings back on since one of them had to hold him up. They had been starting that when he’d arrived, and after only a moment of watching, where it seemed to him that they were being far too rough in jostling him around, he had offered to help.

Pressed against him, even as pure dead weight, Obi-Wan had felt light as a feather. He looked the same way now, lying among the pillows on the bed, cast in bright white. His room was starting to accumulate more personal affects. Unable to bear looking at it in Padme’s apartment any longer, he had brought his lightsaber over the night before and put it on the nightstand next to him. Part of him wanted to press it into his hand, to see if the connection to the crystal might spark some sign of life, but so far he hadn’t tried it. Next to it was a woven basket with a single, blooming peace lily inside, a gift that Padme had sent without telling him. They were Obi-Wan’s favorite flower, a fact that Anakin knew without quite being aware of the origin of his knowledge.

“I know who hired Hardeen to do this, Master,” He said softly, looking down into Obi-Wan’s unmoving face, “Ventress. I’m going to go after her as soon as I can get a ship to do it.”

How would Obi-Wan have reacted to that? Anakin could picture the chin-stroke that would accompany his thoughts. Would he believe it was Ventress? The animosity was certainly there, the motive, and the means. But there were pieces that weren’t adding up to Anakin.

“Who do you think sent her?” He asked to the quiet room, answered by the steady beep of the heart monitor, “Dooku, I know, but why now? Why go against what the Separatist Council wants?”

He moved to take hold of Obi-Wan’s leg, going through the motions that Bant had shown him days before. At least half an hour a day from him, another hour from the medics—between the two, atrophy shouldn’t be an issue when he woke up. Which, he forced himself to think, would be anytime.

“Maybe it wasn’t Dooku who sent her,” But even as he spoke it, Anakin knew that wasn’t true. It almost certainly had been Dooku. But Dooku played his cards close to his chest, and as of late, the war had seemed at a dead heat. This was an act that, instead of a carefully maneuvered action, reeked of some kind of desperation. But why would Dooku, after a string of Separatist victories, be so desperate?

“I know it was Dooku. But it feels like there’s a missing piece,” He explained, mostly to himself.

He recalled a mission that he and Obi-Wan had gone on years ago, a training mission on one of the small planets just outside of the reach of Coruscant. He had been given point on the mission, and Obi-Wan had allowed him to make the decisions regarding what it was they should do and where it was they should go. It was a basic exercise, one that Anakin remembered enjoying immensely since the planet they had been on had been lush with green forest and clear running water and he had felt entirely unrestrained. At the same time, the goal of the mission had given him something to work towards, a mix of puzzles and riddles and clues and basic force-challenges.

It was the first time that he had felt that Obi-Wan had listened to him in the way that Anakin had wanted him to. It occurred to him, years later after Ahsoka had been assigned his padawan, that the exercise had been as much for Obi-Wan as it had been for him, but that didn’t dilute the feeling. All through it, he had bounced his ideas off of Obi-Wan. Learned how to better read his silences and small noises of either agreement or noncommitment.

He ached for that now, hadn’t realized how much he had come to depend on it in their years together. He would give anything for a sign, just a small sign, that Obi-Wan could hear him. That he would respond. Reassure Anakin that he wasn’t too deep in his own mind, or else pull him out of whatever hole he was in. But there was nothing but the steady beep, and the occasional shifting sound of the air purifier behind them.

“Something isn’t right,” He bent Obi-Wan’s knee back, almost to his hip, and held it there for a few seconds, “But don’t worry, Master, I’m going to figure out what it is.”

**Conspiracy or Coincidence? Hardeen Hire Linked to Known Sith Sympathizer, Asajj Ventress**

Dooku felt as though the majority of his life at the moment was being spent in a series of secretive meetings when he would much rather spend it on anything else. Open meetings, where he led the Separatist Council on their pointless delegations about how best to address the fact that they were accused of trying to have Obi-Wan Kenobi murdered during a peaceful delegation. And entirely secret meetings between himself and his master as they continued to string together the complexities of their plan. It had been in play for well over a decade now, and the only danger now was overplaying their own hand.

And then there were those in the middle. Ones he was expected to have: With various admirals and battalion leaders. With Separatist Senators and weapons manufacturers. With Grievous and Ventress.

He had been hoping that over the course of the past week, that Lord Sidious might change his mind and allow Ventress to live. But in their most recent communication, he had inquired as to what his plan was to be rid of her.

“Ventress,” She appeared on his comm table, only her neck and shoulders.

“Master,” She spoke softly, “I wasn’t expecting you to comm until tomorrow.”

“There has been a change of plan,” He said, quickly to pass this business swiftly, “Skywalker’s apprentice is on Mygeeto with his battalion. She must be eliminated.”

“What about Skywalker?”

“He has remained on Coruscant with Kenobi; she is with Jedi Master Mundi,” He pressed another button on his table, sending her the coordinates that Grievous had supplied him with of their fleet, “General Grievous has engaged their troops already. He will assist you.”

“Yes, Master,” She bowed her head, avoiding looking him in the eye. Only a month ago, she would have been defiant about being paired with Grievous, sharing the same distaste for him that Dooku felt. He was a tool, nothing more, and for her to be treated as an equal was a great insult. But the failure with Kenobi kept her silent. She had been expecting something worse than another mission, that had been certain.

“Ventress,” Her eyes cast further down, “There can be no failure this time.”

He cleared the communication without a dismissal, waiting until he received confirmation that she had received the coordinates before he entered Grievous’ comm code.

“Yes, Master?” The droid’s harsh rattle echoed around Dooku’s room, exacerbated by whatever weather conditions he was in—driving rains and pounding storms by the sound of it.

“I have a second target for you.”

**Child Soldiers: What You Need to Know About Jedi Padawans and Their Role in the War Effort**

“Any attempt we make at a frontline assault is hopeless,” Commander Baccara gestured to the map of the city floating above the main table. “They’ve lined the entire walkway with auto-turrets. They’ll blow us to pieces.”

“We have to destroy those cannons or the airfleet will never be able to land,” Master Mundi said, not arguing with his commander, but not agreeing either. It was clear to Ahsoka that the pair of them were viewing this as a largely hopeless proposition. They had been pinned here for days. No chance to move forward, no chance to get off-world, supplies beginning to run low as they waited on help that was being blown out of the sky. It was morbid, but Ahsoka knew that the only reason that they hadn’t run out of most of their basic rations was because so few of them had managed to survive the initial rounds of assault.

She considered the map, not paying attention as the Commander started to talk about another strategy that he seemed convinced would also fail. She scanned the map for any clue. The entire city center had been ripped apart, and wherever there was a corner or space large enough, there was now an unmanned Separatist auto-turret. They might make it past the first few, with clever maneuvering, but as soon as they did, the rest would blow them to pieces. There was no way that she could see, that would get them through the street from their current position. She raised a hand to her face, a pang hitting her stomach as it made her feel very like Obi-Wan at the gesture, and noticed something at the bottom of the map.

“We can’t make it through the street,” She said, and the small group of commanding officers all turned to look at her, “But we could go under it.” She gestured to the small porthole on the corner of the map, “The sewer system has to cover most of the city center. We can use it to take out most of the auto-cannons and then move the rest of the battalion through the line once its clear.”

“It’s a good plan,” Master Mundi said, shaking his head, “Grievous is my main concern.”

Ahsoka cocked her head to the side, “I’m not sure what you mean, Master.”

“Well,” He let out a long sigh, which she hadn’t been expecting, “It’s one thing to fight Grievous on an open surface where there is room to move. If he were to find a group of us in those tunnels…”

He didn’t have to fill in the rest to make the room go quiet. Ahsoka pictured it still, the horrible twisting of his lightsabers as he cut down line after line of soldier that scrambled over each other to escape. But what else was there to do? If they stayed here much longer without making any progress, they would be overrun before long.

“I don’t think we have a choice, General,” Commander Baccara spoke, voice solemn. But Master Mundi didn’t argue. And Ahsoka swallowed back the fear that made her regret speaking at all.


	5. Underwritten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back :) 
> 
> Hope you all enjoy this update! I'm definitely writing this story alongside my BTHB Card, so updates will be a little slower than they were (aiming for once a week!) but definitely still happening :) 
> 
> As always, I hope you enjoy. Please R and R, let me know what you think! 
> 
> Find me on tumblr at this same name.

**Supreme Chancellor Addresses Rumor of Retirement; No Consideration to Leave Until “… Galaxy is Secure”**

On appearance, when all things were considered, the corner of the galaxy he owned was quite small. He was no longer a representative of Naboo-- not that he had ever cared much for it— and in truth, all he held was here. This office which was quite large. His apartment, which in fairness was one of the largest in the city (and there were some that were quite large indeed). But he held no lands, ruled no individual planets, did not know an infinite number of faces who could recognize him on any given day.

It was always an odd consideration, to think how little it all appeared on the surface. All while he knew the truth for himself. Everything was his. Every wayward planet, every misshapen ship and farmer’s field and school and library and hospital. All his, in every corner of the galaxy. What the Republic had not granted him legitimately, the Separatists held securely for him as he pulled Dooku along on his string. There was the odd planet, Mandalore being the largest nuisance, that he would crush soon enough.

There was only one corner of the galaxy that was not his. Only one space. One very specific building. Which he was looking at now, as irony would have it, the odd architecture of it a stark part of the Coruscanti skyline and in plain view of both his apartment and office windows. Now, in his apartment, he sipped at the bitter wine that he regretted selecting instead of the sweet one that the vendor had recommend, and stared at it. Even from here, it’s arrogance was astounding to him.

Only the Jedi, in their foolishness, would have constructed such a monstrosity in the middle of a city. The Sith temples of Korriban were excluded from the rest of galaxy by choice. The Sith had always understood that their place was not among the common people: A mistake that would cost the Jedi everything. If they had isolated themselves as they should, stayed on Ilum where they claimed to have their grandiose connection to the force, then their fate would have been avoidable. Or perhaps not. Perhaps the force had been waiting on his arrival to eliminate the pestilence that the Jedi had become, once and for all.

He could feel them. They pulsed outwardly from their shrine as though there was a massive heartbeat rippling through the city. To him, who had become so artful at hiding in the shadows for so long, it was disgusting. They degraded themselves, with this blatant disregard for the difference in value between those who could wield the force and those they should rule over.

They could not feel him. Master Yoda, he knew, could feel the darkness that surrounded the Senate. He suspected something. Windu, too. Perhaps others, though they gave no sign. He was careful to control his own anger around them because he could see the lines of hollow recognition on their faces when he did. Fluttering moments of suspicion that left as quickly as they came. If they could ever see past their own interests to realize the truth that lay in front of them, if they ever acknowledged that they had made a horrific mistake. To them, this darkness was simply a result of the war. The natural deception and backhanded dealings that were taking place.

He finished his wine, setting the glass down on the nearest end table, and walked to the window. Looking across the city, he considered for the first time that he was perhaps dangerously close to overplaying his hand. He had come to his decision only a year before, after many long hours of contemplation. Skywalker was edging closer to darkness with every battle, every campaign, every life that took for his own. Skywalker’s fall was becoming inevitable, and he would be there to catch him.

But first, he had to take care of the tethers. Of which there were three: Kenobi, Amidala, and the girl.

The girl would die soon enough. Dooku, in his foolishness, had assured him of that. And then, one of Skywalker’s firmest links to the temple, and the only thing holding him there after Kenobi, would be gone.

Amidala, he had decided, would have to stay until he could find and easier way to be rid of her. Something far away, where his connection would not be detected. Or else, once Skywalker was safely by his side, work to turn her into a shared enemy. It would be easy enough, once his plan came to fruition and she inevitably became one of the leader’s of the Rebellion. He could highlight her hypocrisy with ease, show Skywalker how it was that she had traded away her own convictions of peace when it seemed that there were easier routes. Even if it were not the whole truth, the evidence would side with him. And if he failed to turn it that way, one tether was not strong enough to hold him.

Kenobi was the last. Persistent in his unwillingness to die. Possessing of no particular skill or talent, aided only by a reputation that had come at great cost to the legacy of the Sith. An irritation for Skywalker’s early years that had turned into a festering sore the longer he lingered. He had thought, after Skywalker had lost his arm, that there relationship would crumble. That the war would tear them apart. Instead, it seemed the opposite was true.

He could feel Kenobi specifically now. He had latched onto his signature when he had arrived back on Coruscant, could feel the pain and the depth of the injury that he had experienced. It had been Dooku’s idea to use a bounty hunter, some nameless figure that could face the wrath of the Republic. It would decimate Skywalker, put the final phase of their plan into motion, and keep their hands clean as long as the finish was clear. Dooku had convinced him this was the way, that the odds of Kenobi meeting his end on the battlefield seemed increasingly less and less likely.

Dooku, as often seemed the case as of late, had been wrong.

Instead, he had spent the last weeks doing his best to keep Kenobi unconscious, to teeter him over the edge of damaged to fatally wounded. The blaster bolt had done some of the work for him, and in the classified medical reports he had requested, it was clear that recovery, if it ever really happened, would be a long time in coming.

But now, he could feel Kenobi slipping from his control. If there was one thing that could be said for the Jedi, it was that strength that their high numbers granted them. At least relative to the Sith. The Healer’s persistence, the constant presence of so many of them through the force, the combination of medicine and force-assistance—Kenobi would wake soon.

**Behind Enemy Lines: A Day in the Life of an Arc Trooper of the Republic**

Rex was grateful for his armor, not for the first time. Now it was less about how it provided at least some sort of rudimentary protection, and instead on how it kept the thick greywater slush off of his skin and the smell from his nose. He walked only inches behind Commander Tano, keeping his eyes ahead of her into the dark tunnel where there was nothing moving.

The tunnels were thin, far thinner than any sewer he had been in. If he and Jesse had squeezed together, they could have perhaps stood side by side, but they moved in a single-file group through the tunnel, staying in tight formation. He had glanced behind him only twice, seeing the faint light from the other trooper’s helmets and the faint red beeps of the strips of detonators strapped to their chests.

Every man had a strip of the bombs connected to them, more than enough to blow every ground turret sky high. Commander Tano and General Mundi did not, instead armed with their lightsabers.

Rex had always respected the Jedi. IT was ground into them on Kamino that they should, but it was more than that. His own General was a good man and a better warrior. Other Jedi he had known, General Koon, General Mundi, General Ti…all were unique, but offered the same sort of calm that Rex could appreciate. General Kenobi had shown the sort of resilience on Kadavo that Rex didn’t know beings who weren’t clones could possess. He hoped he survived. IF not for his own sake, than for General Skywalker’s.

At the moment, his opinion on Jedi is mostly that he was grateful they were there. They had taken out six of the turrets already, Bacarra emptying his rounds of detonators and heading back alone through the tunnels to camp to begin preparations to move the troops, but that had at least another twenty to go and Greivous was hunting. If he found them here, cramped together…Rex was glad there was a lightsaber in front and back of their group.

A soft splash hit his ears, and he froze, lifting a hand instantly. Every man shut their hoods lights off at once, and Rex cursed the fact that he could hear their breathing so loudly now. The running water sloshed around them, making gentle noises as it spilled through the maze of tunnels around them. He sucked in a breath, listening intently.

“I don’t think---” The Commander started to speak, but Rex heard it again. Just ahead of them, in one of the tunnels on the right. Too quiet to be Grievous.

“I think it’s an animal,” He said, and they all waited, hearing it again. The faintest sound, just sloshing through the running water in almost silence. Moving closer, but with no speed. He let out the breath he was holding, his shoulders sinking downwards minutely.

He reached for his helmet light, the light catching—moving in spades towards them—a white blur, their echoing scream of fury radiating down the chamber.

**Triumphant Return! Will Kenobi’s Return Turn the Tide for the Republic Once and for All?**

“The Senate is voting to order more clones,” Anakin said evenly, using two fingers of his prosthetic to holding Obi-Wan’s head steady. He trimmed carefully at the elongated ginger and white hairs on Obi-Wan’s moustache. Anakin didn’t think there had been this much white before Vanmir. “Padme told me this morning. The Chancellor is going to voice his support for the bill.”

He wiped away the trimmed hairs gently on the rag he had. This was not the first time he had done it and thought that each was getting better. More even, at least, than that very first time.

“Padme doesn’t think it’s a good idea,” He said, sliding the scissors back into the small pouch that he had been keeping in Obi-Wan’s bedside table. It had been a gift from Bail Organa, of all people. He had spoken to a group of them, appearing with Master Yoda for the inaugural launch of the negotiation initiative, and Senator Mothma had asked for an update. He had mentioned Obi-Wan’s beard only in passing, how it was odd to see him looking strangely unkempt. When Senator Organa had stepped away, he had thought nothing of it. He had come back from his office and pressed the grooming kit into Anakin’s fist without saying a word, stepping away before Anakin could even say thank you.

He stood from the bed, moving over the refresher attached to Obi-Wan’s room to rinse the rag clean. The hairs swirled down into the sink, and he washed his hands for good measure. Stepping back into the room, he dried his hands on one of the towels lying on the visitor’s table. “Ahsoka told me that they’re doing an underground invasion on Mygeeto,” He spoke to the wall, eyes studying an odd spot there as he finished wiping his hands, “I still haven’t found Ventress.”

“I—” He turned around, expecting Obi-Wan to be resting peacefully as he had been.

Instead, Obi-Wan blinked slowly at him, eyes glazed but focused intently on where Anakin stood. Anakin froze, joy and terror and surprise and elation battling in all equal measure. He couldn’t move, only watch as Obi-Wan lifted his hand to his intubator, clearly confused by its presence in his mouth.

“Obi-Wan.” He breathed.

Obi-Wan blinked.


	6. Piecemeal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, folks! 
> 
> Thanks for much for sticking with this story! The response on the last chapter meant so much :D 
> 
> As always, I hope you enjoy! Please R and R, let me know what you think :) 
> 
> Find me on tumblr at this same name!

**Separatist Retreat from Mygeeto! Sightings of Grievous Confirmed On-Planet Even as CIS Warships Retreat**

Ahsoka pursed her lips slightly, holding Ventress’ gaze. The light from one of the men’s helmets illuminated her face and cast a glow on Rex’s armor where he had her arms pinned behind her, his own body pressed to the back wall of the sewer. Master Mundi had her lightsabers now clipped to his belt, but seemed equally at a loss as to what to do.

“Where’s Grievous?” Ahsoka asked, looking past her through the dark tunnel as though he might appear at any moment.

“How should I know?” Ventress hissed out, “I’m not his keeper.”

“There was no intelligence that you were even on planet,” Master Mundi said, his voice thoughtful.

“There’s not much intelligence in the Republic at all. It’s an easy flaw to exploit.”

Ahsoka heard an angry grumble from one of the soldiers behind her, but ignored it. Nothing about this made sense. All of the intelligence pointed to Grievous being on planet, not Ventress. They had never fought together, as far as she knew, and she herself had seen Grievous’ flagship on their spotty entry into the atmosphere.

“Why are you here?”

Ventress looked at her, as if calculating what to say next. It couldn’t be too hard of a calculation. She had the upper hand in this situation, even though she had been captured. If they left her with the clones, she could overpower and kill them with or without a weapon. If she or Master Mundi left and Grievous came down into the tunnels…

“To kill you." 

"Is Grievous here?" 

Another pause. 

"Yes."

"Why is he here?" 

Ventress' eyes hardened, and even though they were cold, Ahsoka thought she could see a tinge of regret in them. 

"To kill you," She said, "No mistakes like there were with Kenobi." 

Master Mundi spoke before Ahsoka could react, and even though Ahsoka couldn't see him in the darkness of the tunnel, she could hear the concern in his voice.

"We need to keep moving. And quickly, to catch Grievous off guard before he realizes where we are." 

"Too late for that," Ventress said, and Ahsoka thought maybe that was fear in her voice. 

**Kenobi Remains in Jedi Temple After First Public Appearance—Recovery “Moving Forward” According to Exclusive Sources**

Obi-Wan kept his eyes closed as he let out the breath in his lungs, sinking beneath the water until it closed over the tip of his nose. He had expected the overhead lights to be glaringly bright against his eyes, but they weren’t. Someone, he knew, must have thought that through—that it might be nice for someone healing here to turn their face upwards and not be accosted by the light.

Letting out the breath hurt. When he came to the end of the breath and held his lungs, suspended and empty, it hurt. Radiated from the left side of his back, just left of his spine, and spread out to his whole body in long, gripping tendrils around his joints and his muscles and his bones. He had been close to death, he knew that already, but the constant throbbing was a reminder of that.

The water was soothing on his skin; so different from the bacta tank that felt as though he were suspended in diluted syrup. The water was cool, took away the weight of his limbs and lessened the pain, if only for a moment. His lungs started to stir in his chest, needing replenished, but he ignored them. Despite what he had promised to Bant. He needed a moment, just one more moment, before the work of rehabilitation started.

The moment ended uneventfully, his head moving slowly from the water so that his hair would slick back off of his eyes. When his eyes opened, Bant was watching him, as if debating whether or not she should climb into the water alongside him, but when he remerged, she backed away.

“You know,” She said, “You don’t have to start today. It’s going to be a long process; you can take a day to be in the water if you want.”

She had picked up on that vague thought then. He needed to be more careful of projecting, it seemed. Another thing that would need readjusting.

“It’s going to be a long process,” He agreed with a small smile, “Better to get started.”

“I’m here if you need anything,” She said, moving to a table next to the pool to start rifling through holo-files. He suspected it was more for his benefit, so that he wouldn’t feel watched. He was grateful.

He let his feet touch the bottom of the pond, moving slowly back to the wall behind him. Every movement, no matter how slight, was a jolt of pain. His skin felt stiff, as though it had shrunken along the scar that now marred his upper back and it gave the horrid sensation as though it were tearing every time he moved too much.

He started the gentle motions that Bant had walked him through. Or at least, they were intended to be gentle. The first set of them took his breath away with the effort and the first stab of agony. He noticed Bant stiffen as he finished the first round to start the second, knowing she could feel his pain. He pushed through.

It was not as bad as it could have been, he knew. He had been informed by multiple healers that Anakin had spent hours each day moving his limbs back and forth, keeping the muscles alive and strong, keeping his circulation moving and helping prevent everything from bedsores to lingering numbness. He dipped his head under the water with the next set, letting out the gasp he had been holding in under the water where it wouldn’t disturb Bant.

He closed his eyes, letting his body settle into the rhythms and motions that had become unfamiliar. His muscles protested, his scar protested more, but he pushed onward, started the breaststroke motions that carried him through the water to the other end of the pool. He let his mind drift away from where he was, releasing the pain into the force alongside that bit of concentration until it was a dull throb.

The last two days had been...trying. Anakin, through his immense elation, had tried to inform him of everything that had been happening. Part of Obi-Wan had wanted nothing more than to absorb every bit of the information, everything that Anakin was trying so desperately to say. Everything from the facts of how he had gotten here to the fact that he hadn’t heard from Ahsoka since just before Obi-Wan had woken from his coma.

He could remember the dinner they had on Vanmir 5, the too rich wine that he had decided not to finish and the dry vegetable dish that had preceded what he had thought were otherwise fairly standard negotiations. The Vanmir Delegation wanted home rule, and the Republic wanted them to have it. And he had the vaguest memory of knowing something wasn’t right. Not with the negotiation, but with the evening. He could remember turning slightly, knowing that the blaster bolt was approaching, but that had been all he had time to do.

In the time since, he had apparently become one of the faces of peaceful war resolution. A new negotiation force had been named for him as the Republic held its breath on his recovery. His battalion had been recalled to Coruscant in case whoever had hired Rako Hardeen had named more targets. The Republic had ordered another million clone soldiers. Ahsoka had gone to Mygeeto to help liberate the 21st Nova Corp where they had been pinned down by Separatists. Anakin had, in addition to attending to the needs of the Senate, been taking care of him each day.

It was so much. All so much. He had gone to sleep the night before with his head still spinning, underlined by the fear that he wouldn’t wake again in the morning. Fear he had forced himself to let go.

His fingers brushed stone wall, and he lifted his head out of the water to hear Bant speaking.

“—starting his rehabilitation, Commander.”

“Cody, please, General.”

Obi-Wan reached a hand to his face, wiping the water clear from his eyes and pushing his hair back. His shoulder protested the action, but perhaps a fraction less than it had been. His commander was standing there, out of his armor, looking at Bant, though he couldn’t keep his glance from Obi-Wan in the water.

“I’m no general,” Bant said, with a soft laugh, “Just Bant is fine.”

Cody dipped his head formally, “Very good.” He said to her, but his attention was now on Obi-Wan, who blinked up at him slowly. Cody. He hadn’t seen Cody yet. He hadn’t seen much of anyone. The hundreds of people who had gathered at the Senate Forum as he had made his official public reappearance hardly counted since he hadn’t spoken to the them. Only Anakin, Bant, Bail, Padme, and Master Yoda had truly spoken to him, and some of them only in the briefest of words.

And seeing Cody gave him the sudden feeling of being grounded. He had been suspended in animation, waiting on something to happen as he was evaluated by Healer after Healer, prodding his body and mind as he had come out of his coma. He could only tell them what he knew, what he remembered. Vanmir 5, the blaster bolt, the horrible sensation for weeks of someone trying so hard, so desperately to choke the life from him as others tried to pull him back. As Anakin had held onto him with such a strong, desperate tether that he had been able to cling to it. The thought, well acknowledged, was not as comforting as it could have been. 

But now, with Cody, there was all the memory of before. Of what had been growing between them, kept at bay by war and duty and other obligations that neither of them could ignore. By the thought that there would always be things that were more important, more immediate, and less discomforting. They could be comrades in arms, friends even, but not more. But he couldn’t stop the lightness in his heart that Cody had come to see him. That he was here, asking about him. That he, from what Anakin had said, had been waiting outside of the Halls of Healing on Obi-Wan to wake up.

“If you don’t mind staying here with Master Kenobi,” Bant said, her large yellow gaze moving between them. Bant was one of his oldest friends, knew him better than so many of the others ever had, and he thought he could see a flicker of some sort of recognition in her eyes. It could never be anything, all three of them knew that, but she could grant them a small moment, “I’ll step out to check on some of the others who could use some help.”

“I don’t mind,” Cody said immediately, with another nod to her. She looked one more time at Obi-Wan, and he thought, for the briefest moment, that perhaps she was sad. She stepped out, the door shutting softly behind her, and Cody turned fully to him, not meeting his gaze at first.

“General,” He said finally, softly. When his eyes came up, the bottoms of them were shining just slightly. “It’s good to see you, Sir.”

**Anti-War Protests Fall on Deaf Ears: Resolution to Stop Emergency Clone Production Bill Fails in Committee**

Anakin had grown used to not being able to sleep. He blamed it partially on the fluorescent lights of the Halls of Healing and the effect it had on his eyes. It was lie, but one that was just on the right side of believable that it managed to keep Padme’s stress levels lower than they could have been.

Tonight, though, his lack of sleep was not his fault. It was primarily Ahsoka’s, she had comm’d his for the first time in days. He had leapt from bed next to Padme where he had been staring at the ceiling, thinking over the protests he had addressed outside the Senate, of walking into the pools at the Halls of Healing to see Obi-Wan talking to Commander Cody who sat cross-legged by the pool, of getting an official commendation by the council for his organization of the security battalions around the capital. Her call had been an almost welcome reprieve.

She looked haggard through the blue haze of her holo-projector. He opened his mouth to speak, to tell her that Obi-Wan was awake, that he was healing, but she spoke first.

“Master, I need you to report to the Council,” She said, “I can’t get anyone to answer there.”

“Ahsoka, what—”

“General Grievous is dead,” Her voice was flat, devoid of all emotion.

He blinked, barely keeping his grip on the commlink as he sat on Padme’s couch. “Master, are you there?”

There was a note in her voice now, pleading with him to be there. For him to be listening.

“I’m here, Snips,” He said, voice barely above a whisper. “I’m here.”

Her image changed, and he watched as every the blurry image of her shook a bit with what emotion she was repressing. “Grievous is dead,” She repeated, her voice now tight, “And Master Mundi…”

Anakin swallowed dryly. Master Mundi was dead? Grievous’ death meant the end of the war. It was worth the cost, had to be worth the cost. How many times had he told himself that? How many times had they all been told that?

How long had he pulled Obi-Wan back to life, refusing to let him become another casualty?

“We’re bringing Ventress back to the temple, she—” But the communication went silent. 

Padme emerged from their bedroom, eyes soft with sleep, looking concerned. “Was that Ahsoka?” She asked, “I thought I heard her.”

“Grievous is dead,” Anakin answered, the repetition spurring him to action. He stood in one fluid motion from the couch, moving to pull on a clean tunic. “I have to go.”

Padme nodded, now fully awake, her mouth open in slight shock. He pulled out his commlink, dialing in the comm code for the council battle reports station. It needed to be the first call, even if no one was answering as Ahsoka said. He would wake them if he had to.

And after that, he would take the news to the Chancellor.


End file.
